


The Angel Heaven Forgot (& the Demon who flipped off Hell on his way out)

by ximeria



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crack, Fluff, Footnotes, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, SO MUCH CRACK THOUGH, Snake Anatomy, Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens), just saying it involves hemipenes, sex with Crowley in half serpent form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ximeria/pseuds/ximeria
Summary: Somewhere around the death of Jesus, Aziraphale started wondering if anyone paid him any attention. By 1100AD he was quite sure and by 1800 he thought 'sod it' and opened a bookstore in Soho.This is canon divergent from the Garden of Eden. Aziraphale and Crowley do not meet and yet the End Times are still foiled (though who knows how - maybe an angel and a demon weren't all that necessary after all). Instead Aziraphale runs into Crowley and they end up striking up a friendship.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got a chance to commission one of my favourite artists and handed her the rough draft of chapter 1 - which means I've changed the scene just a little bit. But I want to show you all, because the artwork is absolutely beautiful:
> 
> I can only say one thing - I love this woman, I love her artwork and her humour and if you haven't already, please tell her how beautiful it is - and read her comics - they are hilarious and have been brightening up my days since I first came across them. You can find the [ tumblr post right here ](https://anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com/post/614429675143528448/commission-of-nagacrowley-and-exploreraziraphale)
> 
> Also, this wouldn't have existed if not for Meinposhbastard, who once again took one look at the story, cheered me on, told me to GROW BETTER (just kidding, she doesn't yell). As always, stunning beta work ;) - any errors left are entirely of my own doing.
> 
> Please keep in mind the tags? This fic is mature for the last bit of chapter 3 - and it involves serpent hemipenes. Nothing overly kinky, but it might be more than you bargained for.  
> 

Somewhere around the death of Jesus, Aziraphale started wondering if anyone paid him any attention.

By 1100AD he was quite sure and by 1800 he thought 'sod it' and opened a bookstore in Soho. 

He'd slacked off on sending reports and no one had come around or sent him any reminders so eventually he'd just stopped. He'd even experimented on how big a miracle he could do without attracting attention. Big, as in really big.

Aziraphale had spent a day escalating things from saving a young child from getting run over by a horse and carriage, to giving an old man his sight back so that he could see his grandchildren one last time before passing on.

The latter had made him quite sad and a little bittersweet, so he'd shelved the whole miracle thing. No one seemed to pay any notice upstairs anyway, so he might as well just use it when the need arose.

It was as if Heaven had a glitch in their matrix. (1)

\- 1. What Aziraphale and, indeed, any angels were unaware of was that said glitch was one of Her little experiments and no amount of fixing would ever actually FIX it. A glitch is, technically speaking, not a glitch when it's done on purpose, as an easter egg or even if it's the programmer's back door. Simply know that this was not so much an error as a hidden feature. Aziraphale was off the radar and would stay that way.

  


Aziraphale's thoughts never lingered too much on the past, really. He tried to live from day to day and enjoy himself and whatever contemporary hobbies and interests were present. The whole 'let's ignore things' especially came in handy whenever memories of what had happened in Eden resurfaced. He'd been demoted five minutes after he'd given Eve the sword (2) - a bit of an overreaction if you asked him.

\- 2. Yes, Eve. Really, Adam was a bit of a mess on a good day, and Aziraphale had opted to give the sword to Eve so that she could protect her mate and their children.

  


So long story short, a good deed did not go unpunished and Aziraphale had, while not fallen from Heaven, fallen _out of_ Heaven's good book.

Actually, he'd fallen so far out of Heaven's books, that it seemed they'd forgotten all about him.

He would be lying if he said it hadn't hurt, at first. He'd considered visiting Heaven to ask. Though that would have meant dealing with the bureaucracy. One had to fill in a triplicate and wait for it to be approved before being admitted to the offices. So he'd thought he'd give it a bit. Heaven with all its lists and logistics surely would come back to him when they realised their error.

However, it simply hadn't happened. No one came, no one asked for him, no shining scrolls or envelopes appeared in front of him to give him his orders. When he'd fully realised this, one hot day in Paris, around 1165AD, while watching Notre Dame being built, he'd had to sit down somewhere and think it through. His first reaction when it had truly sunk in was to drown it in quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol. That week was completely lost to him, and he'd been reluctant to use a miracle to bring back the memories. He'd woken up to a goat quietly eating his jacket, judging him so hard he'd instantly sobered up and vowed to handle alcohol with more respect in the future.

So Aziraphale had meandered through the ages. From France to China, from China to Scandinavia, and once, around 1700, a quick trip to the Americas, out of curiosity. He'd not much liked it, so he'd carried on through South America, to Australia and eventually ended up in Europe again. And by 1800 he'd invested in a building on a corner in Soho, opened a bookshop and decided to give Heaven as much attention as they had been given him: which was to say, absolutely bugger all.

However, he had to eventually admit to himself that not having Heaven breathing down his neck had been quite freeing. Sure, things had gotten a bit shaken by the time the Apocalypse had rolled around, but Aziraphale had spent that Saturday on his couch with a glass of wine and Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, and when no one had summoned him, he'd gone to bed. (3)

\- 3. Somewhere around the 14th century, Aziraphale had decided to try out what humans called sleep (yes, he'd been a bit bored) and he'd found that he quite liked it. The first couple of times had been a bit hit and miss (in this case, miss meaning that Aziraphale had ended up sleeping for an entire month). But he'd eventually gotten the hang of it and fallen into the habit of getting six hours of sleep when he did decide to sleep. Seven on weekends. Eight if he was feeling extra decadent (plus an hour where he stayed under the covers while reading).

  


Sunday morning had a strangely new smell to it (like new-car smell, only new-earth smell instead), but Aziraphale had shrugged and decided that if the world hadn't ended, it was pretty good with him. He didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Actually, since Heaven had truly seemed to have forgotten all about him, Aziraphale decided that perhaps a few centuries in London had been enough. He hung up a sign on the door to inform the infrequent customers of his even more infrequent opening hours and went on a bit of an adventure.

Now, he'd considered where to go, but had been stuck on the reason for travelling. While he was quite sure that travelling could be done for the sake of travelling, and he quite liked to meander, he felt he needed a _reason_. Granted, he'd occasionally use boredom as an excuse for investigating or learning smaller things. (4)

\- 4. Somewhere in the middle 2000s (AD not BCE) Aziraphale had faced another round of boredom and had found a community course for the elderly (which he obviously was, he was after all very old) that promised to teach the use of computers. While most of the other course goers had puttered along the course, Aziraphale had realised that what he was seeing was the tip of an iceberg of information. So much lay at the tip of his fingers.  
  
Hence he'd taken to technology in general and the information highway in particular, in much the same way he had taken to his books. Information and communication allowed him to see and read so much.  
  
He'd also discovered how gullible humans could be on some online forums. Especially when it came to things religious and or mythological. A nice way to spend the afternoon, he found, was a cup of tea, his good chair, the laptop and various forums dealing with cryptid sightings. He wasn't above fueling their strange ideas and theories if things were a little slow, or even more often, giving them the God honest truth.

  


So in the end, he'd told himself that either there was nothing to these cryptid sightings, in which case he'd be doing everyone a favour by debunking it, or there _was_ a grain of truth in them. And in that case he would most certainly be doing humanity a favour by rooting it out and getting rid of it. Indeed, if there was no truth to the stories (which he was sure there weren't) he'd at least get the trip out of it and he quite liked using proof to show the others on the boards just how wrong they were. He wasn't strictly speaking trolling, but he did enjoy a good argument. (5.)

\- 5. One might say this is the general reasoning of most trolls on the world wide web, but of course, our angel would argue that he was in fact doing everyone a favour by destroying the worst of the misconceptions. He'd so far left the dinosaurs alone - let Her have Her laughs where She could - and God was quite happy that he wasn't trying to tank that joke specifically. She had Her favourites and that was most certainly one of them.

  


It all led to Aziraphale packing a sensible bag and snapping his fingers, changing his outfit to be more suitable to the Peruvian jungle than the jungle of Soho. In this case, it wasn't strictly speaking suitable for either, as Aziraphale had decided to go for an old fashioned Victorian explorer's outfit. Snapped twice thereafter and transported himself to a location in the middle of Peru. (6)

\- 6. Public transport, if one asked Aziraphale, was all good and well. He used the busses, occasionally the Tube, but when one could cut out the hours it took to fly across the Atlantic, then one really couldn't blame Aziraphale for doing just that. Anyone who has ever been on a long flight would most definitely agree: A snap of the fingers and you're there? Best thing ever.

  


Now, however well planned Aziraphale's trip might have been, he had forgotten to take into account one thing. And that would be the fact that with the Earth revolving around itself as well as the sun, 10AM in Soho was in the middle of the night in Peru. So instead of appearing in sunlight, he appeared in the middle of the night, startling a poor anteater and a family of nocturnal somethings that scurried off into the undergrowth.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said to himself, shouldering his bag and tugging at his khaki jacket. It wasn't as hot and humid as he'd expected. But then again, it was nighttime and Aziraphale rarely let such minor things as temperature and humidity bother him. In front of him, in the darkness, loomed a tall structure, largely overgrown by bushes and other plants clinging to the stone work. But there was no mistaking the man made structure underneath all the greenery.

Nor was there any mistaking the large gaping maw of the entrance. From where Aziraphale stood, the entrance wore a striking resemblance to a snake's head and open jaw.

"Well, the people on the forum did speak about a snake god, so I can perhaps see where their stories come from," Aziraphale muttered to himself.

Straightening his back, he slowly stepped forward. He considered for a moment how much light he could get away with and then shrugged. Who was going to see him out here anyway? A snap of the fingers and two old torches on either side of the snake's jaw sputtered and flared to life.

With his luck there would probably be some huge snake nested in there who would not take kindly to being woken up by a nosy angel, but at least he would have the proof he wanted. Maybe he'd tackle Sasquatch next? Humans had the most delightful ways of explaining normal phenomena with the most outrageous theories.

He took one of the torches and started walking through the entrance. The light from the flame flickered all over the place, causing shadows to jump and writhe across the old stone walls. Now, Aziraphale could have just as easily have miracled up a mechanical torch (or packed one), but for some reason he just hadn't thought it fit quite so well with the situation. (7)

\- 7. Aziraphale had found over the years that being a dramatic bitch (tm) really only improved things. He lived and breathed when he felt like it for the term 'go big or go home' which meant he'd occasionally be a flashy bastard if he felt the situation called for it. In this case he most certainly felt that in order to fit in with his Victorian explorer's outfit, live, flickering torches were needed. He'd even considered downloading some ominous music to play on his mobile before he'd left, but had felt that perhaps this was a bit much even for him.

  


The 'throat' of the snake carried on for quite a while and Aziraphale wondered how deep he'd have to venture to get to anywhere interesting. There was a slight twist and turn to the hallway and he realised that it mirrored the coils of a snake's body in some way and was slowly bringing him deeper underground.

Well, as long as no one hit him with Hellfire, he would survive most things. Not that he wanted to get discorporated. While Heaven had seemingly forgotten about him, he was quite sure that they would not be quite so quick and lax about giving him a new body if he turned up asking for one. Even if he filled out the right paperwork in triplicate.

The walls at least looked dry and nothing seemed to be scurrying about his feet. Actually, barring a wild growing vine or root here and there, the passage was in remarkably good shape for something this old and abandoned. There was a faint damp smell of soil and rotting flora, but otherwise nothing really caught his attention.

Where Aziraphale would have expected the passage to taper off into a narrow dead end, as the tail of the snake it emulated, the passage did come to an end, however, not a dead one. It narrowed down to an opening, barely big enough to let him through, and Aziraphale stuck his torch through trying to see anything beyond. Nothing really. Nothing but a vast darkness - so too big for the light to reach any walls. With a shrug he checked that there was a floor on the other side of the opening and stepped through. (8)

\- 8. Aziraphale had read enough adventure stories with reckless 'heroes' to know that such a thing as missing floors and falling boulders should be taken seriously.

  


What he hadn't expected was the moment he was through, the opening behind him closed itself and vines appeared out of nowhere, snapping forward and engulfing him, his torch falling to the ground.

And with his arms trapped against his body, he couldn't snap his fingers to get some proper light. As the vines tightened around him and tugged and pulled until he was hanging upside down in the quickly encroaching darkness, Aziraphale thought that perhaps he'd been a little cocky in thinking nothing could happen to him here. Especially if one took the sound of slithering scales across stone into account, mixed with the torch sputtering on the ground.

"My my, what have we here?" purred a voice somewhere off to his left.

"I-" Aziraphale tried, but the vines tightened their hold around him, making it hard to- well, not that he needed to breathe, so he felt a little silly. "Unhand me this very minute!" he demanded. He felt he'd come off sounding quite authoritative.

"Mmmmm, it'sss been a while since I've had sssuch a treat - and there's more than enough of you to sssate me for quite a while," the voice carried on.

"I demand-" Aziraphale cut himself off, as he realised what his captor had said. "Are you calling me fat?" (9.)

"I- whot?" the voice in the darkness faltered.

\- 9. While Aziraphale didn't consider himself having the kind of hangups that humans leaned towards when it came to body image, he had occasionally found the rude comments about his portly stature quite insulting - and one could only listen to it for so long before it sowed a seed of discontent in one’s soul and self image.

  


"I really don't take kindly to such allusions, I have to say," Aziraphale said. He was beginning to have second thoughts about this cryptid hunt. If for nothing else he had most certainly not expected to be so rudely insulted.

There was a snap of fingers and light appeared from an unknown source. Aziraphale felt the vines twisting to turn him in the opposite direction of where he was facing.

"You _are_ pretty plump looking, you know," the voice said and after a moment an upside down face drifted into his view.

"I beg your pardon!" Aziraphale said, blinking as his eyes grew accustomed to the bright light. He opened his mouth to carry on his dislike, but snapped his mouth shut. He wanted to ask what exactly he was looking at. "First off, the naga mythology is not regionally correct for Peru, and second, as mythology, it does not exist!"

"I would have gone with Echidna," the serpent-man said, making a face. The light played off his long red hair as well as black and red scales. His body was long and the coils of it disappeared into a pile of un-orderliness, so there was no guessing as to his length.

Aziraphale drew a deep breath. "That is even worse - Echidna was according to mythology female _and_ Greek," he said triumphantly. "Of which I believe you are neither."

"I'm a demon, I can bloody well be what I want to!" the serpent-man exclaimed, a look of outrage on his face.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to keep arguing, then snapped it shut. Oh no. Why hadn't he even considered this? Strange and scary going ons in a temple out in the middle of nowhere? Of course it had turned out to be a demon's hiding place.

The demon narrowed his amber eyes, sniffed and then sneered. "You're an angel."

Aziraphale huffed as much as he could in the current situation and shifted. And for a moment there was enough give in the vines around his hands to allow him to snap. Of course, miracaling the vines to let him go had the downside of the rather natural occurrence of gravity.

The ground was quite unforgiving as it rushed up to meet Aziraphale, who scrambled rather undignified to get back onto his feet. He straightened up only to come face to face with the demon who was rushing right at him.

Aziraphale did the only thing his instincts told him: he closed his fists, gathered his power, swung as if to punch his opponent and squeezed his eyes shut.

There was a bright flash and when he opened his eyes again, the demon was in an ungainly heap several yards away.

"Fucking ow! Did you just smite me?" the demon asked, disbelief making his voice rise an octave and a half.

"I may be a little rusty in the smiting department, but let that be a lesson to you," Aziraphale said with a sniff, dusting off his outfit, hiding that he'd tried to smite the demon out of existence, but had very obviously managed no such thing.

Rusty indeed.

"Looks like I might have underestimated you," the demon replied, pursing his thin lips and moving a little closer, though he thankfully still kept a respectful distance to Aziraphale, for which the angel was quite thankful.

The demon waved a hand and the vines crept down from the ceiling again, though this time they curved into a rather elaborate chair. "Sit," the demon said, curving his own body around himself, finally settling in a way that allowed him to lean forward resting his elbows on the coils.

Aziraphale eyed him for a moment. There was no way he could trust this creature, no one could trust a demon. He was fairly sure that part of Heaven't teachings hadn't changed since the last time he'd had to sit through one of the team meetings. Gabriel had always been very fond of quoting the rules before getting down to business.

"Please?" The demon added, as if he was tasting the word to see if that might be the right one.

Aziraphale took a step closer to the seat. He really didn't fancy a repeat of his earlier impersonation of a sleeping bat, but he was also terribly curious about the vines.

"How did you do that?" he asked, reaching out a finger to poke at it. It seemed more than sturdy enough to hold him, should he choose to sit on it.

"Eh, I've been here a long time - got bored and started yelling at the vines," the demon replied. "After a few generations, they were my loyal subjects."

"Just how long have you been down here?" Now that he no longer felt quite so much in danger, he had to admit he was rather curious about this demon. He'd never really met one, so one couldn't fault him this.

The demon opened its mouth to answer, then frowned. "What year is it?"

"It is 2020," Aziraphale said slowly. "When did you get here?"

"Somewhere around 1864?" the demon replied. "I'm a bit fuzzy on that - it's kind of hard to keep track of it when you live in the dark and accidentally sleep for a couple of decades."

"Ah. Hiding from the Apocalypse as well," Aziraphale said. It made sense for a demon to cower like this. (10)

\- 10. One might argue that Aziraphale had hidden from the Apocalypse as well, but he in turn would argue that he'd simply not been invited. There was a difference.

  


"Did that happen?" the demon asked curiously. "I've been a bit out of the loop."

"I think so?" Aziraphale said. Now it was his turn to be a little unsure. He hadn't checked, afterall. Wouldn't do to call management and ask. They might start paying attention to him, which was the last thing he wanted.

"What do you mean, 'you think so'?" the demon asked, swaying a little from side to side. "Armageddon isn't something you can miss, is it? End of days and all? I mean, unless you're holed up in the middle of nowhere like me."

Aziraphale made a face. This wasn't easy when he didn't have all the answers. "We were all summoned to go to war, and then out of nowhere, the next morning there was nothing. No war."

"So you went from the battlefield to nothing?" 

"Ah," Aziraphale said, feeling a little strange to be having this conversation with someone who was, for all intents and purposes, his hereditary enemy. "I didn't go," he mumbled.

"Wha'?" The demon straightened up, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Not exactly the most attractive look, Aziraphale told himself. "Did you just say-?"

"I didn't go!" Aziraphale repeated, feeling quite put out. "I had a glass of wine and a good book on the day, went to bed and the next morning everything was... pretty normal."

"You're definitely something else, angel," the demon said, eyes wide with wonder. "And they just let you?"

Aziraphale shrugged. He didn't really want to explain to this creature the whole exile thing or that possibly, his invitation had been lost in the mail (for which he had almost been thankful). "You must've been summoned as well."

"Hrempf," the demon said, sniffing. "I cut my ties with Hell centuries ago, angel."

"You're a demon, how?" Aziraphale asked. He'd been cut off as a punishment - and then forgotten about. Here was a demon who had done so by choice, it seemed. If he could trust a word out of his mouth.

The demon muttered something and Aziraphale leaned forward to hear. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I didn't agree with the assignments I got sent out to do," he replied, looking a little sheepish. "I guess you can say it started when I realised Hell has no style, no... panache," he added.

"You left your position in Hell because you... felt it lacked flashiness?"

"Nothing wrong with a bit of style," the demon huffed. "There was never any innovation or will to try something new. Always tempt this priest, or that politician or whatever. No style. No challenge. It all gets a bit boring in the long run, don't it?"

"I guess," Aziraphale said, blinking in confusion, trying to imagine what that would be like. It wasn't like Heaven was any more innovative. Sure, they liked fairly modern things from what he could tell, but that didn't mean 'stylish'. He shook himself mentally; he'd never in a million years thought he'd be sitting in an old abandoned temple, having a fairly civil conversation with a demon.

"Say, angel," the demon said, sliding forward and closer to Aziraphale, eyes alight with something that Aziraphale had no idea what was. "You're the first company I've had in ages capable of speech. I mean, apart from the smiting, I'm actually quite glad you're here. Things were getting a bit lonely."

And Aziraphale realised that it was delight he was seeing. A demon delighted to see an angel? Oh well, the end times had come and gone, perhaps he shouldn't be quite so surprised if things were a little skewed?

"I have to admit I'm perhaps a little curious as well," Aziraphale allowed. "I mean, I haven't had any assignments from Heaven for quite some time and since I didn't show for the big war that then didn't happen, I doubt they'll be missing me by now." He wasn't even sure what he was trying to say? Was he really inviting an ongoing conversation with this creature? "I mean, things have been a little slow lately, eh..." he eyed the demon, realising they hadn't exchanged names.

"Oh, Crowley," the demon said. "Used to go by another name but didn't quite like it so changed it." (11)

\- 11. Crowley wasn't wrong. Going by the name Crawly when one was a 12 foot serpent-man was perhaps a little too on the nose.

  


"Oh," Aziraphale said. What an interesting concept. "I'm Aziraphale," he said. "I've spent the last few centuries in London - have a bookshop there."

Crowley eyed him with a frown. "Aziraphale," he said. Then shook his head. "No, can't say I know it. Nice to meet you, angel," he said, smiling so widely that Aziraphale could see his fangs. He leaned forward, his scales whispering against the stone floor as he moved, holding his hand out for Aziraphale to take.

Aziraphale wondered if he was under some kind of spell because he didn't feel any fear at all when, to all intents and purposes, he should have been attempting to smite this demon again. Yet the last couple of centuries had been a little bit boring - even if Aziraphale had at times delved into human society for entertainment. It just wasn't the same as someone who understood what he was and where he came from.

Even a demon understood these things better than a human.

He shook Crowley's hand, surprised that the upside of them were covered in the same reddish scales as his serpent underside was, only paler, so it was almost indistinguishable from his human skin. And even more of a surprise was that his palm had the warmest and softest skin. He took a moment too long to look, obviously, because Crowley took notice.

"Never seen a snake before?" he teased.

"I've never touched one - and you're not exactly a snake, now are you?" Aziraphale said, letting go of Crowley's warm hand. He'd been quite tempted to touch the claws and trace the scales up into the underarm where they seemed to meld completely with the pale, more human-like skin.

"I'm... the idea of a snake," Crowley agreed. "I'm not as She created the snake, but as all demons I have an animal aspect - and that's the snake."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "How interesting."

Crowley looked a little guilty and shrugged. "It's a thing and I've grown quite used to it - it's great for naps."

"Oh," Aziraphale said. "I quite like naps. Though perhaps not here," he said looking around. The bare stone walls and floors were not particularly inviting, even if the vines he was sitting on weren't half bad. None of it exactly invited someone to lie down for a nap.

"Yeah," Crowley agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I got used to it?" He brightened a little. "Maybe I should get out of here and see the post-apocalyptic world?"

Aziraphale winced. "That term has a bit of a different meaning out there, Crowley. And while many things have changed and advances have been made, I don't think humans are quite ready for..." he gestured at Crowley, unable to find the right words.

"Oh! I can get dressed - I didn't expect humans to walk around naked," Crowley said with a laugh.

"I... kinda meant the... " Aziraphale turned his attention to the long coiled body. "Your form doesn't exactly allow you to fit in."

Crowley looked down at himself as if this was the first he'd seen his serpent body. "Oh, of course, don't be silly, angel. This is just the form I prefer - doesn't mean I can't do this." He snapped his fingers and staggered forward as his body changed and he was standing in front of Aziraphale on two slightly shaky legs.

"Good Lord," Aziraphale said, eyes widening. While he himself quite liked to have his human corporation be as authentic as possible, he hadn't been expecting to be met with one very naked demon who seemed to take it fairly natural as well. Which meant he averted his eyes as fast as possible.(12.)

\- 12. Though not fast enough to not make a note of how perfectly proportionate the willowy body was, with all its bells and whistles. Not to mention that Crowley was most certainly a true redhead.

  


"Oh, wait, clothes," Crowley muttered, thankfully still more than a little busy focusing on his change. Another snap and a delighted noise drew Aziraphale's attention back again and he chanced opening his eyes.

Aziraphale wasn't sure if it was worse or better, because the outfit Crowley was wearing, while horrible outdated, looked very fetching on him. Quite dashing, really.

"Not quite in style these days," Aziraphale said, taking in the very fitting cut of the black trousers, perhaps a little too tight for the style Crowley was going for. The boots were likewise black and with matching black spats. The frock coat was an invitation to sin, tailored to fit perfectly at the waist. Very fetching, indeed. "But it'll do until we get back to London and you can familiarize yourself with the current fashion." Aziraphale closed his mouth almost audible. Had he just issued an invitation?

"You're taking me to the city for some shopping?" Crowley teased, but there was something honest and happy in his eyes. His hair, still long enough to reach mid back, was now tied back into a ponytail, completing the look quite well (even if the length was not quite right for the ensemble he was wearing, he made it work). "I'm.." Crowley trailed off. "Do you mean it, angel? You taking me back to civilization? I'm not gonna lie, I'm a bit curious about mankind."

Aziraphale made a face. "Just be warned, while there have been many advances made, not everything is rose-tinted." He hoped Crowley didn't expect mankind to be ripe for the taking.

"I know humans, angel - I don't expect miracles," he said with a wink.

Aziraphale felt oddly unsettled and warm at the same time, but it wasn't in a bad way. He just wasn't entirely sure where that feeling was coming from.

* * *

Crowley asked himself for the fifth time in as many minutes whether or not he'd gone mad or if boredom had finally taken its toll and added him to its kill-list.

Back in 1864, he'd meant it when he'd stomped off in a huff and left humans behind, but it had afterall only been part of his reasoning, hadn't it?

He'd realised that Hell, while happy with his reports, they were also growing more and more interested in what he was doing. So he might've exaggerated on one or two reports, but if they looked too closely he'd have trouble with his usual act. They'd only believe so many bent truths, he knew that.

He'd quite quickly be accused of helping people more than he was gatering souls for hell, Crowley wasn't stupid. He had a soft spot for humans, and doom and gloom, while fun sometimes, just wasn't how he rolled in the long run.

And apparently now he'd gone bonkers because he'd just agreed to go back to the outside world - and with an angel. The opposition. His adversary, his angelic counterpart.

But oh, this one was interesting, wasn't he? Cushy, inviting, pretty - and more than a little rusty in the smiting department, no doubt. If what Crowley had experienced was anything to go by. Sure, it had stung a bit, but it hadn't discorporated him or otherwise really been a problem.

He'd smited, smoted? Crowley shook himself mentally. He'd tried to smite Crowley and Crowley had, quite frankly, been smitten. This angel, who he should have been fighting, had started a minor argument with him instead and that was in itself enough to pique his interest.

In more ways than one, and Crowley pushed the age old hunger down. He might be a demon of temptation and occasional lust, but he was old hat at pushing it down and away. Wouldn't do to scare his new, very interesting, friend away, now would it? (13)

\- 13. Crowley had rarely acted on his urges, not because it hadn't been fun when he'd done so, but lust and temptation was easier to do if he just pointed the humans in the right direction. Orgies had been fun when they'd first come around, but quite frankly he'd grown tired of them quickly as they made that part of his job just a little too easy and thus, a little too boring.

  


Crowley eyed the angel who was, in turn, eyeing the vines growing up the back wall of the room. Crowley couldn't blame him for being a little wary around them. They had, after all, done Crowley's bidding and caught an intruder. Hanging the angel upside down. Another wave of what he could have put the angel through lit up inside Crowley. He let it pass. That would most certainly scare Aziraphale away.

Again, he had to wonder if he was perhaps right in his guess. Aziraphale. He'd told him he had no idea who he was, but even Crowley wasn't this out of the loop. Or at least hadn't been back then.

He'd been in the loop. He'd _been_ the loop. If he was right, and Aziraphale was who he thought he was, Angel of the Eastern Gate, then Crowley had to be careful. A guardian angel in the old sense of the word. A principality. Even if Heaven had stripped him of his duties, Crowley was sure that only God could strip him of his powers - and Crowley could feel them, right under the surface - unused, perhaps a little rusty, but they were there.

But, oh boy, to imagine that this was the angel he'd tried to find after he'd tempted Eve (14). Only to learn that said angel had been removed from the post and Crowley had nearly been discorporated by his replacement.

\- 14. He'd tried Adam first, but Adam had been diverted by other delights of the Garden (mostly Eve). So trying to get him to eat the apple had been a dud. Eve was far more interested in the whole free will and curiosity thing.

  


Crowley studied the angel as he was busy looking at the markings on the walls now. Crowley shot the vines a warning glance. They were trained to treat any intruder the same way - throw them out or slowly suffocate and absorb them. Crowley had left them with enough creative will to do whatever they felt like within those parameters.

So this was possibly the angel who had given his flaming sword to the humans. It wasn't widely known, but Crowley had understood as much from the mutterings of the substitute angel who'd been on Aziraphale's post afterwards.

Crowley had spent centuries wondering why the Angel of the Eastern Gate had done such a thing. And through all these times he'd slowly grown fond of humanity. For all their flaws, they were curious creatures, and that alone endeared them greatly to Crowley.

And for his own curiosity - well, he could thank it for dropping everything and more or less steamrolling over the angel to get to go with him to London. How had that even been so easy? Crowley tugged at his gloves. The whole Victorian getup would have been a little warm and restricting after so long in nothing but his skin, if the outfit hadn't been just that, his skin (Crowley had a habit of just imagining whatever so in reality he was never really wearing anything). He was fairly sure that human fashion had changed since the last time he'd been anywhere, but it'd do for now. Aziraphale had said as much, but at least he was dressed more appropriately to the angel's sensitivities.

Crowley had noticed the way he'd been looked at when he'd changed his shape. And he hadn't even shown that much skin on purpose. He hadn't missed the heat in the quickly averted eyes. He might be a bit rusty, but as temptations were part of his DNA (in as far as a demon had DNA), he had almost tasted it in the air.

For an angel of the Lord to be this careless around a demon was unheard of. Crowley clucked his tongue. For all that this angel was old enough to have had a trusted position in Eden, he seemed to be lacking all the necessary survival traits. Crowley had to make sure that no one - no other demon - would take advantage of that. This former principality was his alone to figure out.

Crowley had one major weak spot. Had had since he'd been an angel. His insatiable curiosity and appetite for questioning absolutely anything and everything. Offer him a puzzle and he would have a hard time turning it down. Unless of course he deemed it too easy. He lingered for a moment on the angel currently tracing writings on the wall with the tips of his fingers. Now there was perhaps one of the greatest puzzles in the world, all wrapped up in a rather lovely package too.

Crowley looked down at the cuttings he'd been selecting from his vines. Only the best were allowed to come along. Just because he was going from the middle of the jungle to the middle of a civilization, didn't mean he'd be going without any sort of protection. (15)

\- 15. Crowley would never admit to having developed a soft spot for his vines. As much as he'd claim that it was the stern upbringing and yelling that worked best, he would also lapse into periods of talking to them, as if they were another sentient living being. And thus that was exactly what they had become.

  


Seemed now that perhaps he'd need to protect his newest puzzle as well. It was an entirely new feeling for him but one he was quite looking forward to examining more closely.

* * *

Aziraphale stared at the four potted plants staring back at him from his desk. Crowley had insisted that he get the time to give the vines one last stern talking to, and to take a few cuttings as well. Aziraphale tried hard to ignore the fact that Crowley had referred to them as babies.

The plants leaned towards him a little and Aziraphale inched his way around the desk. This was going to take some getting used to. He was sure Crowley was in full control of them, he'd seemed to be in the temple. And these were... babies, as the demon had put it.

Things weren't exactly normal and Aziraphale still wondered what might've gotten into him when he'd offered to take the demon back to London.(16.)

\- 16. Lust might have factored in quite a lot, though both curiosity and loneliness played a hand as well. When one considered how many years Aziraphale had been without immortal company, one really couldn't blame him for getting a little attached when someone like Crowley slithered into his life. He'd tried to get to know humans, but their lifespans were so horribly short and while Aziraphale had quite enjoyed their creativity, he'd learned to keep his emotional distance.

  


Said demon was currently in the shower upstairs, singing some weird pop song he'd picked up from the radio earlier in the day.

It had so far been eight days, three hours and fifteen minutes since Aziraphale had taken Crowley's hand and brought him, and his plants, back to the bookshop with a well placed snap of the fingers.

In the span of two days Aziraphale felt like he'd had his life turned upside down and he'd begun wondering if by wishing for change in his life, he'd sparked some really weird joke from God. (17.)

\- 17. There was a saying, or perhaps, if one read the right books, a curse: "May you live in interesting times." The uninitiated might think this was a wish for someone to have an interesting life, something they might enjoy, when in reality it most certainly wasn't. It was most certainly a curse. 

  


He looked up at the ceiling, silently wondering if She was watching and enjoying the joke. (18)

\- 18. She wasn't. Most of the time She wasn't keeping tabs on Her former principality. Most of the time She trusted him to be in the right place at the right time. Like an old temple in the middle of the Peruvian jungle.

  


"Angel!" Crowley called as he bounced down the stairs, drying his hair with a towel and wearing something a little more modern than what he'd been wearing when they'd arrived. Aziraphale had explained that pajamas weren't exactly outdoor wear, but once Crowley had decided it was what he was wearing while they were indoor, there was no changing his mind.

And the black silk pajamas did look very good on him. Aziraphale had no idea why the mental image of it spread out over a white duvet kept creeping up on him at the most inopportune moments. (19)

\- 19. It didn't help that the white duvet featured in his dreams had a heck of a likeness to the one that covered his own bed.

  


He really wouldn't know because he'd made sure to miracle an extra bedroom upstairs for Crowley to sleep in, even if the demon had eyed Aziraphale's bed with a strange glint in his eyes. He now had a perfectly good match in his own room. Not that he seemed overly interested in sleeping. He was up when Aziraphale went to bed and was drinking tea by the time Aziraphale got up in the morning. 

"Crowley," Aziraphale greeted, feeling his earlier doubt evaporate.

"Mankind definitely makes better showers these days," Crowley laughed, bright eyes flashing with mirth. "It beats having to bring up water for a bath."

"There's always the option of miracaling up a bath for ourselves," Aziraphale said in reply as he went and sat down in his armchair.

Crowley threw himself on the couch as if he'd always done this and the couch wasn't actually only two days old.

"Eh - it's not the same, angel, you know that."

And Aziraphale could only agree. He was quite fond of making use of the amenities that humans had come up with over the years. And Crowley wasn't wrong when he said it wasn't the same. It was like miracaling up food or booze - it just didn't taste right.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to ask Crowley what his plans were going from there. Closing it again, he took a deep breath. If he asked, maybe Crowley would leave faster and Aziraphale wasn't sure he liked that idea.

"Anything on your mind, angel?" Crowley eyed him curiously.

"I was going to ask if you are absolutely sure that your plants are harmless," Aziraphale said, burying his other questions deeply. It could wait. For now he had an interesting houseguest.

"They are, they're the descendants of plants who know better than to cross me," Crowley replied. "So, angel, educate me some more, I feel like there's so much I've missed."

Aziraphale tried not to grin too widely. He loved talking history, and Crowley was like a sponge - initially Aziraphale had offered him books, but Crowley had argued that he'd rather hear it from the angel because he'd been there - rather than some historian with an agenda.

"Perhaps we should have some tea for this," Aziraphale said, getting to his feet, feeling a little out of sorts. Like something bubbly inside his chest was trying to escape.

"Say, angel, you wouldn't happen to have coffee, would you?"

Aziraphale did not, in fact, have any, but a quick little miracle and the necessary paraphernalia left a shop further down the street and money appeared in their till to pay for it.

"Nice one," Crowley said with a laugh. "You could just have said no."

Aziraphale had quite forgotten that Crowley would be able to tell when he was using miracles. As a demon he would, like Aziraphale, be able to tell when someone did anything non-human.

"Just because I drink tea doesn't mean I'm going to force you to do so," Aziraphale huffed goodnaturedly. He walked to the small kitchenette in the back and found the things he'd purchased. He knew the basics, but he'd need to check a few things before he set up the french press.

A quick check on his phone and he knew what he needed to do.

"Angel, that thing you're using," Crowley said, from where he was leaning against the book unit that served as a room divider towards the kitchenette.

"Hmmm, this?" He put his phone down as he measured out the ground beans and set the water to boil for both his tea as well as Crowley's coffee.

"Yes, that." Crowley pushed away from the unit and stalked over, looking at the phone with great interest.

"Humans have come up with many kinds of technological advances while you've been away. We used to have ordinary phones," he said, pointing towards the corner that held his old landline. It was a relic, but pretty in its own way. Retro, as people would probably call it these days. "Nowadays it's all wireless."

"You lost me, angel," Crowley said, poking the screen of the phone, making a small noise in the back of his throat when the screen came to life and the lock screen displayed the time.

"You'll get the hang of it," Aziraphale said, feeling a little odd to be explaining modern technology to a demon. Not many years ago he'd probably have been clueless if not for boredom and the realisation that so much information could be at the tip of his fingers.

It didn't mean that Aziraphale didn't prefer to stretch out in his bed at night with an interesting book. He just really liked the easy access when it was needed. And let's not forget that the angel had a habit of trolling forums and the internet simply made it a bit too easy for him sometimes.

So Aziraphale made his house guest coffee and sat down for some serious Q & A time.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale realised a few weeks later that he must've done something right, because slowly, Crowley grew from asking questions about absolutely everything to first looking it up in a book, then later on the internet and then, if it still didn't fully make sense to him, he'd ask Aziraphale.

The angel wondered if it was perhaps a bit odd that he almost missed all the questions as Crowley began finding his own answers.

Still, much to his surprise, it was actually quite nice having a house guest staying with him. Even if said house guest was, strictly speaking, his hereditary enemy and one he should probably have tried to smite harder after he'd failed the first time.

"So, how do you like my new style, angel?" Crowley asked, spreading his arms and doing a full twirl to allow Aziraphale to see him from all angles.

If Aziraphale hadn't already found Crowley quite good looking, his new look would have most certainly done it. Crowley had shortened his hair a little. When he'd been in the jungle it had been nearly all the way down to the small of his back. It was still long, to the lower edge of his shoulder blades and he sometimes had braids, sometimes put up in a messy ponytail, but it was more manageable now and looked less like the hair of someone slacking off in the jungle for two hundred years and more like a fashion choice. (20.)

\- 20. And this time the overall fashion choice was more 2020 style than 1864. Not that there was anything wrong with what Crowley had been wearing, but even Aziraphale felt that the black hat, gloves and well-tailored suit had been a bit much.

  


The current look that he was sporting was certainly enough to take Aziraphale's breath away. The demon obviously had a preferred theme, black and tight being the thing - and the trousers looked like they had been molded onto his thin, long legs - much like Aziraphale remembered his scales being.

Black jeans, so tight it was probably a good thing that Crowley didn't need to breathe, though for sure, he'd have trouble if he tried to sit down in them. He was wearing a pale grey shirt and a black waistcoat - topped with a black jacket. Aziraphale swallowed as he let his gaze drift down and then got sidetracked.

"Snakeskin boots? Really?" It had taken him a moment to notice.

Crowley laughed out loud. He tipped his foot up to show Aziraphale that the soles were red - much like the scales of his belly had been.

"It suits you," Aziraphale said, feeling like he was outside himself looking in - completely displaced from his own corporation for a moment or two. Completely incapable of not feeling the spike of want rushing through him.

"Thanks, angel." Crowley grinned. "Now, since I'm dressed more human - how do you feel about going out for dinner? I quite fancy some of those things you've mentioned and I'm fairly sure that there's even more that isn't on takeaway menus."

Aziraphale cleared his throat. He'd been careful about not taking Crowley on too many public outings. Mostly because he'd still gawk at things and ask questions that were, quite frankly, not exactly normal.

"Well, there could be a table free at the Ritz, I believe," he said slowly, holding up his hand to snap his fingers.

"That's very fancy," Crowley said, eyes alight with glee. "Are you sure it's not too fancy?"

"Not at all," Aziraphale said, raising an eyebrow. Of course, Crowley might attract some attention, but it wasn't something they couldn't deal with. "It is one of the best places in London - and I'd like to show you the best." (21)

\- 21. This was not the time for him to admit that he'd love to show Crowley every little nook and cranny he'd normally visit. All the little cafés, the small theatre in the basement around the corner. Take him on a picnic…

  


"Angel, I don't care if it's takeaway or a fancy restaurant - I'll enjoy it either way - as long as you're there."

Aziraphale coughed and took a step back.

"I mean, you're my friend, right?" Crowley said, looking like butter wouldn't melt. "I like spending time with you - and after so long on my own, I really like having you to talk to - you get me in a way a human would never be able to."

"I… thank you," Aziraphale said, not entirely sure how to react. "I do like spending time with you as well - I'd be lying if I claimed that my time here on earth hasn't been, at times, a little boring and lonely. And you are quite right - humans, while quite nice to interact with, do not have the same knowledge as we do, nor experience."

"For which I think we should all be glad, especially the humans," Crowley said with a small laugh.

Aziraphale couldn't help but smile. He had noticed since having Crowley in the house, he'd done so more often. He could occasionally feel his cheek muscles hurt from laughing. All because Crowley was such lovely company.

"Well, the Ritz it is, then," Aziraphale said, snapping his fingers to make a reservation appear in his own name for that very evening.

* * *

"Angel, you never told me why you were here," Crowley said, sitting back on the couch with his glass of wine.

"Well, I have my bookshop," Aziraphale began, his own mind a little slow and mellow as they were, by now, on their third bottle of wine.

"No, I meant on Earth," Crowley corrected. "I mean, I get that Heaven seems to have forgotten about you - as you said, no one seems to be looking for those missing reports."

"Oh," Aziraphale said, feeling his heart sink through the fog of the wine, down through his stomach and into his shoes. (22)

\- 22. He visualised for a moment how his heart lay there, forlornly and out of reach. It has already been mentioned that Aziraphale was a bit of a drama llama.

  


"I mean, you don't have to answer if you don't want to," Crowley said hastily. "I was just curious." He leaned his head back, but kept staring at Aziraphale without blinking.

Aziraphale ran a hand down over his face and sighed. It just wasn't good memories from back then - he'd always hated confrontation and the whole demotion after the sword thing-

"Hey, it's okay, angel."

Blinking in confusion, Aziraphale realised he'd lost track for a moment. He was still sitting in the armchair, but instead of sitting on the couch, Crowley was kneeling in front of him, hands on his knees and a worried look in his eyes.

How had he suddenly crossed the distance between them so fast?

"You okay?" Crowley asked quietly. "You were suddenly staring at nothing and hyperventilating." He paused for a moment, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face. "Was it something I said?"

"What? No!" Aziraphale took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then let it out again. He wasn't even entirely sure what had just happened.

"Angel, did you just have an anxiety attack?" Crowley asked, voice so softly that Aziraphale thought he'd heard wrong.

"Of course not," he replied when he could trust his voice again. Angels didn't have anxiety attacks. (23)

\- 23. This would be a bold lie - they'd simply call it something else. Even celestial beings like angels would feel the equivalent of their heart speeding up and their palms sweating. And in this case, losing a chunk of time to the void.

  


"Alright," Crowley said, not looking quite like he bought it. "So you're okay?"

"Yes, must've just gotten lost in thought there for a moment." Aziraphale shrugged. He knew he didn't sound half as convincing as he'd hoped to.

Crowley shrugged and stood, towering over Aziraphale for a moment before heading back to his spot on the couch.

Picking up his glass of wine again, Aziraphale stared into it. It was still mostly full.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" Crowley said. He looked utterly soft and perfect as he sat there, the shades he'd worn for dinner propped up on top of his head, the arms of them threaded through his red hair. "And if you don't want to talk, that's fine too."

"Yes, I... " Aziraphale stopped himself. He'd not had anyone to tell about what had happened in Eden, had he? Never bothered to tell a human. They wouldn't have understood and quite frankly, with their short lifespans, what would be the point?

But he had someone he could talk to now, didn't he? If he wanted to open himself up about it all. If. Bloody big bugger of an 'if'.

"I… may take you up on that at some point," Aziraphale said, almost surprising himself more than anything. Because he felt it was actually true.

"Whenever you need it, angel, I'm here." Crowley's voice was soft and inviting. It felt like the softest velvet wrapping itself around Aziraphale's heart.

Aziraphale found the energy to smile again. Took another sip of his wine and sighed deeply. "I'm glad you're here, Crowley, instead of that dark temple, alone."

"It wasn't half bad, you know," Crowley said, leaning back on the couch, looking terribly comfortable. "I mean, sure, the vines weren't exactly the most terrific conversationalists, but I also didn't have to deal with any envoys from Hell and stupid assignments."

"Might I ask," Aziraphale began, then halted. Maybe the question he was about to ask _was_ a little too personal. Especially considering he'd only just begged off sharing his own history.

"Go on," Crowley said, blinking at him slowly, almost mesmerizing. "Ask."

"What did Hell ask you to do that you would turn your back on your orders?" 

"It wasn't really just one thing," Crowley mumbled, staring unseeingly into his wine glass. "I'd been trying to twist my way out of a lot of my orders. And angel, don't call it 'asking me to do' - Hell demanded and expected us to follow orders."

"So it all added up?" Aziraphale asked, offering Crowley a way out if he didn't want to mention anything specific.

"Well, let's just say that the Black Death was among the triggers for my departure," Crowley said with a sigh. "I didn't like what it did to mankind, and I most certainly didn't want to play any part in making it worse by spreading misinformation and pseudo science."

"Ah, the pseudo science-" Aziraphale said. "It's still a bit of a problem. So that was your side's idea."

"I don't even think it's Hell spreading it so much anymore, is it? I'm not saying that it makes it better that mankind is now doing it, but-"

"No, I see what you mean," Aziraphale agreed. Humans were very inventive. Often more than was good for them. He looked up at Crowley and couldn't help but smile a little. "I'm glad you came back with me, though."

Crowley's grin was infectious as he leaned back and stretched his long legs out. "Ah, you say that now, angel, at some point you'll grow tired of me, you know."

A small traitorous voice in the back of Aziraphale's head whispered hotly 'never', unheard, but not entirely unheeded.

* * *

"Sorry, angel, didn't mean to fall asleep on the couch," Crowley said with a yawn, sitting up. The couch was very comfortable. Not to mention, he'd gotten so used to Aziraphale puttering about the bookshop that it almost always managed to lull him into some kind of half-awake state.

He took the cup of coffee that the angel handed him and held it to his chest. He could feel the heat coming through the ceramics and his inner serpent swelled with glee. Not just because of the heat. "Thank you," he said, taking a sip.

"You're more than welcome, my dear."

Aziraphale carried on down between two bookshelves, moving books from one nebulous location to another. Crowley had quite given up trying to figure out the system and he had a sneaky suspicion that that was the whole point. _A completely illogical system to keep any possible customers from finding anything to purchase._

Crowley had to admit that he found this side of Aziraphale very endearing. Not that Crowley had had much to do with other angels, but he was pretty sure that Aziraphale's level of potential bastardness was pretty unique.

"And don't worry about napping on the couch," Aziraphale's voice drifted through the cliffs of knowledge. "I haven't opened the store today. Just be yourself and don't worry."

"Be yourself and don't worry," Crowley muttered to himself. He was, actually, itching to go back upstairs to his bed, to allow himself to change back into the form he'd always considered the most comfortable to nap in.

"You say that, angel," he called out, "don't think you'd want me to lounge in my serpent form on your couch."

It was quiet for a moment and then the sound of hasty feet on hardwood floors. Aziraphale rounded the bookshelves and came to a stop, looking a little flustered as he was holding a book tightly to his chest. (24)

\- 24. "Keep your snake happy - an illustrated guide to snakes for dummies"

  


"Wh-why wouldn't I want you to feel comfortable?" 

"Having a twelve foot serpent on your couch is probably a little too much," Crowley said with a laugh, already starting to get up. He'd go upstairs and allow himself to be his full serpent self. Even if his bedroom wasn't overly warm.

"Would it be warm enough for you down here? I mean, compared to your thick duvet upstairs?" 

Crowley stopped in his tracks. "More than warm enough." Was the angel actually asking what he thought he was asking? Or inferring, offering or- whatever? "You're saying you don't mind me being my serpent self down here?"

"As long as the shop is shut and no one can walk in on you - you'd be surprised how the health and safety of this time and age can be a little uptight about such things." Aziraphale hugged the book a little tighter to his chest.

Crowley swallowed hard. Good Lo-Sa- someone, how was this creature so damned cute? And why the hell was it hitting him so hard?

Hiding his stupid infatuation, Crowley shrugged and leaned back on the couch again. "If you're sure?"

"Oh, but I am," Aziraphale replied, his full attention on Crowley. He was by now hugging the book so hard the binding was creaking. He seemed to realise this and looked a little panicked. "I'll leave you to it. Your nap." And then he fled back to whatever he'd been doing among the bookshelves.

Damn it, but Crowley kept seeing these little things, like the softness of the angel covering some hellish kind of strength. Just the other day he'd witnessed Aziraphale just keeping on pilling books into the pile he was holding in one hand, the tower growing and growing, possibly kept in line with a small miracle if the tingling sensation was anything to by, but the way he'd seen the angel's muscles move under his shirt sleeves... (25)

\- 25. Aziraphale always took his jacket off when he was working on reshelving. Always hung it up and straightened it on the hook before going to work. There's even been that one day where he'd rolled his sleeves up and Crowley hadn't been capable of looking away for the whole time or really thinking about anything else.

  


Crowley was well aware that he was screwed. He'd followed this angel back to civilization out of curiosity, but he was most certainly staying for something else.

Feeling more than a little warm himself, Crowley let his body change and curled his full serpent self up on the couch, hiding his head well inside his coils and promptly fell asleep. If he was sleeping he wouldn't have to deal with his pesky feelings.

Of course those feelings returned tenfold when he woke up again and found his body had been covered with an oversized tartan quilt.

Over the next month those pesky feelings grew quite a lot inside of him, and Crowley was beginning to wonder if perhaps he'd angered God after all these centuries - that She was maybe getting even for the whole apple business in Eden. Because this had to be a cosmic joke of some kind. His stupid curiosity had led him right into this, hadn't it?

The one day where he'd sort of forgotten himself, the bookstore was shut and Aziraphale was out on an errand. The couch downstairs was by now nearly Crowley shaped as he had his customary afternoon nap. He wasn't a huge fan of long sleeps these days, but he was a big fan of naps when they presented themselves. Especially on the couch. However, he'd forgotten himself a bit. Rather than his full human or full serpent self, he'd ended up slipping into the habit and comfort of the human upper body and the serpent's lower.

A small gasp woke him and Crowley blinked his eyes to clear them of sleep. "Angel?"

"Yes, sorry, I hadn't seen this form since the temple," Aziraphale said quietly from where he was leaning on the chair he'd normally sit in when they were spending time together, just enjoying each other's company.

"I can change," Crowley offered. He knew he'd bend over backwards to accommodate Aziraphale, especially now. Because there was a flutter of pleasure whenever the angel said 'thank you' to him or just smiled, and Crowley had long since given up on fighting it.

"Not at all, my dear, it's all part of who you are - whatever you feel comfortable in," Aziraphale said hurriedly. "I think you are quite stunning no matter what shape you wear." The latter was accompanied by some blushing.

Crowley pulled the quilt around his shoulder and didn't even try to fight his stupid smile. If God was watching, he hoped She was enjoying the show.

* * *

Crowley stared unseeing at the ceiling of his bedroom. _His_ bedroom. The one the angel had very obviously added with a quick miracle when they had arrived in the bookshop on the first day of their acquaintance.

Crowley rubbed his belly. Scales were slowly spreading and his lower body was already contorting into its serpent form. As much as he quite liked his human corporation, he preferred his serpent form for sleeping. Even back in the temple, he'd spent much of his time in half-serpent form because it had just been easier with two arms and hands than a full serpent body. However, when it had come to sleeping, he'd almost always revert into full serpent form. Because that was just more comfortable.

It helped. 

It was a plus as well that the serpentine mind slept better than his more human one. It was like the corporation reached through and created an overlay. His human mind would think and wonder; the serpent just wanted rest and heat.

Speaking of heat. Crowley shivered a little. There'd been a cold spell lately, but so far it hadn't been more than he could handle. And it wasn't like Aziraphale hadn't given him plenty of blankets and duvets plus a water bottle, encased in a knitted tartan pouch. All of which Crowley was very happy with (though he could have done without the tartan - but out of respect for his host, he didn't change it).

But the cold spell had been bad for Crowley's serpent self. And waking up in the mornings had become a little harder. It was possible that he'd feel warmer in full human corporation rather than full serpent, but logic didn't always find its way to Crowley's mind. He was simply more comfortable as a serpent when he slept.

Stretching his arms above his head and settling into the bed under a small mountain of blankets and duvets, Crowley let his body find its preferred form for sleep and the serpent's instincts hissed at him to go to sleep and Crowley did.

Now, one thing Crowley was fairly sure he'd never done before was sleepwalking. (26)

\- 26. He would be wrong - there was one time in around 700AD where he'd walked through a viking settlement and made himself at home by the fire - all without waking up. Of course the next morning had been rather confusing and Crowley had, by 2020, quite forgotten all about it.

  


But he would be right in saying that he had never sleep-slithered in his life. Normally when the serpent slept, the serpent slept. Aforementioned cold spell had, however, grown teeth and sunk them deeply into London, sinking all of Soho in a bitter, cold fog.

Now, had Crowley been more aware of such a thing as central heating, he might have turned the heat up before he'd headed off to bed, but his head had been full of angels (or one angel in particular) and Aziraphale had never shown him the modern wonder of central heating because the angel never really felt cold or hot - so he'd forgotten.

However, hindsight would be twenty twenty and Crowley had done no such thing before going to sleep, hoping to dream of fluffy white wings and fluffier hair. Well, imagining the wings, because he hadn't felt quite up to asking to see them. It was a rather personal thing.

And it was possible that his last thoughts before sleep had turned his sleeping mind's attention as well as his serpent instincts into a simple homing device. It was also possible that Aziraphale exuded an internal heat that had drawn Crowley's attention since they had arrived in London. The angel always seemed warm to Crowley whenever he could get close enough to actively feel it. (27)

\- 27. Whenever he'd forget himself he'd lean a little closer when they passed each other and the angel did indeed radiate heat.

  


No matter what the reason was, the outcome was only the one. Half-way aware of the cold floorboards, Crowley writhed his way through the hallway and slithered his heavy body up against the door that swung open without much resistance. Without so much as a sound, Crowley curved up along the bedpost at the foot of the bed and under the thickest and fluffiest duvet to ever exist.

It was a testament to Aziraphale sleeping well that he didn't wake up. Especially when Crowley slithered his — by now rather cold — serpent body up close against the angel's. Coiling himself just right, Crowley managed to make the most of it. As much warmth against his cold scales as possible.

The only reaction was a slight shiver, a muttered unintelligible word and a sigh before he put his arms around Crowley's body, pulling it closer to the source of heat it was craving so much.

And Crowley's serpent mind, at the forefront rather than in the back where his more human and demonic logic lay dormant, felt this was by far the best thing since forever. So it simply enjoyed it and fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Eight hours after he'd gone to bed, Aziraphale began to resurface. It wasn't Sunday, so the extra two hours was perhaps not helping him in waking up fast. It was more of a very slow rise to the world of the awake.

And the extra hours wasn't the only thing that was different. Aziraphale normally had a comfortable body temperature when he slept. Not that he minded a little extra warmth, but this morning he felt as if he was being held and felt warm and content.

Opening his eyes slowly, he blinked away sleep. His vision was taken up by the gentle curve of a big red and black serpent head, partly shoved under the pillow next to the one Aziraphale's head was resting.

And this was where Aziraphale realised that he wasn't just being held. He was ever so gently being cradled by coils of soft, smooth serpent body.

Aziraphale closed his eyes again. This was new. The question was did he wake up his friend or did he let it happen naturally? To allow the demon plausible deniability? 

He stared at the serpent and decided he could take his time. He wasn't being held down into the bed, but he would have to work a little to get out of the coils. Enough that he would most likely wake Crowley.

Aziraphale had seen this form a few times before. Especially since Crowley had admitted that he preferred to nap like this. Or in the half form. But he'd not been close enough to touch or been uncouth (or brave) enough to ask. So the only time he'd felt those soft scales under his fingertips was when he and Crowley had shaken hands.

Seemed like he had the opportunity right now, but he really couldn't bring himself to do so without asking. A small voice in the back of his head argued that Crowley had made the first move in getting into his bed, but until Aziraphale had had a word with him about this, he was not going to just start touching the demon without any kind of prior agreement. (28)

\- 28. This didn't mean he hadn't thought about it. More than once. Actually, he had a hard time not thinking about it every time he'd pass by the couch with Crowley napping in any kind of serpent form.

  


The serpent twitched and the pillow lifted a little. The body seemed to ripple and the top of it morphed, became broader and grew arms.

"This is mortifying, isn't it?" Crowley asked, voice low from under the pillow.

Aziraphale couldn't help but grin a little. "Not necessarily - though I am at a loss for an explanation as to what made you slither into my bed in the middle of the night."

"Cold, I think," Crowley replied with a sigh, lifting the pillow off his head and shoving it under it instead, turning his head to look at Aziraphale. His long hair was a mess and his eyes heavy lidded. Soft. He looked ever so soft and a little embarrassed.

Aziraphale swallowed hard. Crowley was his friend, and a demon. (29)

\- 29. It did entirely escape Aziraphale that this in itself, the friend _and_ demon part should be two entirely incompatible facts - at this point waking up in the same bed was just another thing added to the list of things he probably shouldn't have with Crowley.

  


Yet here he was, in bed, close and comfortable, content to not move just yet. A twitch underneath his neck and shoulders alerted him to the fact that Crowley wasn't just cuddled up to him... He was for all intents and purposes _under_ him.

"Oh, I should be getting up - slept in a bit, didn't I?" Aziraphale said, feeling a mild level of panic.

"Angel," Crowley began.

"No, no, quite alright." Aziraphale managed to wriggle his way out of the bed, not at all conscious of the bit where his pajamas top was riding up and he could feel scales brushing over his skin.

Running for the safety of his little kitchen, he snapped his fingers and his pajamas changed to his usual outfit. Normally he quite enjoyed getting dressed the human way - there was a certain zen to doing so. However, this time he needed the feel of protection that his clothes would be - he most certainly couldn't allow himself to linger on what had just transpired.

By the time Crowley joined him, fully in human form, Aziraphale felt a little more in control of himself. Crowley had foregone his own pajamas and was wearing his usual black ensemble. Aziraphale had perhaps been a little hasty in thinking that he had regained his self-control. He turned his attention to finishing Crowley's coffee. It was safe this way. At least the coffee wouldn't make his heart race.

"Aziraphale," Crowley said quietly. "I'm sorry, I swear I didn't climb into your bed for nefarious reasons - I don't normally sleepwalk, but it was cold last night and you give off more body heat than the heaters will ever be able to top."

Aziraphale took a deep breath. He stared down at the french press, then pushed the stamp down. "It's okay," he said, and was a little surprised that he meant it. "It's okay," he repeated, "I don't mind." He poured coffee into the black mug that Crowley used.

"Are you serious, angel?" Crowley asked, coming over to him, staring at him.

Aziraphale finally turned to meet his gaze. There was something strangely vulnerable in the amber eyes and he hesitated to acknowledge it. Instead he took the coffee and held it out as a peace offering.

"I'm serious, Crowley. You didn't, as you said, climb into my bed for nefarious reasons - and I should have made sure the heating was on - just because I don't feel the cold doesn't mean you don't."

"Yeah, with a serpent body comes the weaknesses of a cold blooded animal," Crowley said, taking the cup with a small smile and a small duck of the head. "Still, I would have prefered to ask before doing that - not to mention, most people wouldn't take it quite that easy to wake up in bed with a twelve foot serpent."

Aziraphale was startled by his own laughter. "I can't say it wasn't a surprise, but you were quite comfortable." He nearly bit his traitorous tongue as it tried to add 'you're quite welcome to do so any time.'

"Angel!" Crowley exclaimed, mock horrification on his face - an expression he managed to keep up for about five seconds before laughing and taking a sip of his coffee. "Damn it angel, for someone who doesn't drink coffee, you're very good at making it."

"Thank you," Aziraphale replied, feeling the warmth spreading through his chest. He was an angel, and if Heaven hadn't paid attention to him in centuries, the world had ended and then not… who said he couldn't… befriend a demon, who had turned his back on Hell. Neither of them truly had their old sides anymore.

Yes, friendship. Aziraphale tried to ignore the other feelings mixed in there. He'd been alone for so long, it was only natural. (30)

\- 30. Strictly speaking it was very natural as Crowley was exactly Aziraphale's type: Tall, dark and slithery. And oh so very sweet, but Crowley probably wouldn't take to that moniker kindly.

  


Much to Aziraphale's delight, the next night there was a knock at his door. Opening the door, he found Crowley standing outside, wearing his usual black pajamas and a shy smile. "Thought maybe I could do this on purpose tonight. I mean if you're okay with it?"

Biting his lower lip, Aziraphale let him in. Sleeping with a twelve foot serpent might be a bit on the odd side for some, but Aziraphale had to admit that he'd slept very well when Crowley had joined him in his bed the other night.

If it was perhaps a bit of a strain for him as well, so be it. He'd been alone for so long and simply having someone else holding him was an entirely new experience.

And the experience kept on happening. Night after night. Much to Aziraphale's embarrassment, though, the cuddling brought with it a new problem. Not that Crowley ever mentioned it when they woke up. But it became par for the course for Aziraphale to wake up with a small, but insistent problem: he was hard where Crowley was pressed against his crotch. Because as a serpent Crowley seemed to always end up with his body pressed between Aziraphale's thighs.

It should possibly have been a sign for him that Crowley hadn't mentioned it but was perfectly on board for it. And one morning, about two weeks into their new 'arrangement', Aziraphale failed to remove himself before he'd get too embarrassed and Crowley leaned in and kissed him.

Pressed into the mattress, Aziraphale sighed. He would be lying if he claimed he hadn't thought of this specific situation from early on. Crowley's breath was warm against his neck, his hands ever so clever where they were sliding up under Aziraphale's pajama top. (31)

\- 31. And by clever was meant he unerringly found every little hotspot that would send sparks zinging through Aziraphale's body.

  


"You feel so good, angel, your _scent_ is unlike anything I've ever experienced," Crowley mumbled, lips damp against Aziraphale's skin. "You're the loveliest creature on this planet, so soft and inviting."

Aziraphale swallowed hard. His whole corporation seemed to be vibrating with every word and touch. "You're an invitation to sin, my dear," he mumbled, letting his own fingers trail down Crowley's naked back.

"I'd make you my last temptation, angel, if you would be mine for the rest of eternity." Crowley's voice was honey sweet and barely audible.

"Tempt a lot?" Aziraphale asked without thinking. He didn't really want to know about past conquests. However, at the same time he would have to admit that he was a little curious. While he had little experience, it would be nice if one of them knew what the hell they were doing.

"Nothing big since the Garden of Eden," Crowley mumbled, shifting to slide two fingers down inside the elastics of Aziraphale's pajamas pants.

Aziraphale's hand paused. The words trickled through to his blurred mind. Eden. Not since Eden. It echoed through his mind.

"Angel?" Crowley stopped what he was doing, obviously catching on to things not being what they should be.

"When you say Eden," Aziraphale said slowly. It couldn't be. There was no way this could be… Serpent, serpent, the word echoed through Aziraphale's core. Serpent of Eden. The original temptation, original sin, Original Tempter…

Crowley pulled back, looking down at him.

Aziraphale had hoped to see anything that might tell him that Crowley had misspoken, joked even. But all that met him was a slightly sheepish look. "You're the serpent of Eden," he said, not recognising his own voice. It sounded empty, void of any emotion.

Crowley seemed to catch on to it as well. He drew a deep breath and let go of Aziraphale, even moved back a little to give Aziraphale room.

"You… you could have told me," Aziraphale tried, swallowing hard. What if Crowley had simply done this because it was in his nature, because he was a tempter, _the_ Tempter - it was his whole nature, wasn't it? He'd brought about the exile of mankind from the Garden of Eden.

"Angel—” 

"Was I someone to tempt because you don't know any better, because you were bored? Just another one?" The thoughts clamored for attention in his head and Aziraphale had to get some distance between them.

"No!" Crowley said, reaching out for him. There was a certain desperation to his voice, but it didn't quite make it through to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale flinched and watched the light in Crowley's eyes dim. "I… just give me… I need fresh air." And distance, he didn't say, but he could tell that Crowley heard it nevertheless.

Crowley opened his mouth, then shut it again, just stared at Aziraphale.

"I'm…" Aziraphale said, his throat tight. What was he trying to say? I'm sorry? I can't do this? I can't have you, because why are you even in my bed? We're hereditary enemies, we can't, we _shouldn't_? Did you tempt me because of who you are?

Rather than finishing the sentence, Aziraphale took a deep breath and half fell out of the bed, turned around and all but ran down the stairs to the shop. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth step on the stairs his clothes changed and he was wearing his usual armour. Buttoned all the way to the chin. Tight, protective.

Five minutes later, he came to and began taking in his surroundings. He was somewhere on the outskirts of Soho, heading in the direction of St. James' park. Slowing his near-run to a walk, Aziraphale fought back the lump in his throat.

"Saints and sinners," he muttered to himself. "What have I done?" Invited a demon into his home, then into his bed. 'Into my heart' a traitorous voice whispered in his mind. 

Aziraphale entered the park, walked among humans, but his mind was most certainly elsewhere occupied. Currently back home in his bed, busy being ravished.

The other end of the park was reached far too fast. Carrying forward, he walked the streets until he came to a small café. Lunch rush hour was still a few hours away and there wasn't anyone in there. Aziraphale decided that he'd need more time. He couldn't go home just yet. If he did, he'd have to face Crowley. And even worse, he'd have to face his own insecurities.

Because that was deep down what was wrong, he knew this, but he'd need some alone time to think it through. And a good cup of tea and a chocolate eclair. He ordered from the young girl behind the till and sat at the window to wait for it to be served.

Since he'd met Crowley in the temple, to be honest, the temptation had never seemed obvious. And the more Aziraphale thought about it, the more he wondered if it had even been there. Maybe he was the one who put meaning into their interaction that hadn't been there.

Of course there had been temptation, but had it been Temptation™? (32)

\- 32. What he really needed the answer for was what kind of temptation had been at work. Had it been the full on Tempter of Eden trying to cause an angel to fall, or had it simply been two very lonely beings finding what they had always searched for in the other?

  


The distinction was important, he was sure. A small pinch in the vicinity of his heart made him wince. He'd just run out on Crowley, hadn't he? More or less the moment the demon had revealed who he really was.

And why now? Why hadn't he been more candid earlier? Was he ashamed of who he was, had been? He'd been the one to tempt Eve, causing the humans to be cast from Eden - this had, in turn, meant Aziraphale had given Eve his sword and had been demoted and then exiled.

Did it make it Crowley's fault? The initial urge to scream 'yes' died as he sat back and the girl came over and put his cup and eclair in front of him. Did it matter who had tempted mankind to exploration and curiosity? Would it have mattered what demonic presence had done so?

Would it have changed Aziraphale's choice? His attraction to Crowley? (33)

\- 33. This should be considered a rhetorical question, of course. Seeing that the heart wanted what the heart wanted and Crowley had never done it to hurt Aziraphale, an angel could only hold a grudge for so long. Now sure, Aziraphale could hold a grudge against bad service or ill mannered customers who did not take 'no, this is not for sale' for a 'no, this is not for sale,' but he would come around for the sake of his serpent. He just needed time.

  


The bell at the cafe's door chimed and a delivery man walked through the door, a sunny smile on his face and a clipboard under one arm - a long package under the other. 

Aziraphale wouldn't have paid him any attention if not for the fact that the man seemed to hone in on him.

"Good morning, sir, Mr. Fell, I presume?"

Aziraphale blinked in confusion for a moment. "Yes?" He hadn't expected anyone to find him here - or for anyone to know him. He surely didn't know who the delivery man was, in his khaki shirt and his khaki shorts and his sharp, bright smile.

"Delivery for you," the man said, handing over the pen and clipboard where indeed, Aziraphale's name was printed. "Lovely day, today, isn't it?" he asked conversationally while he waited for Aziraphale to sign the slip. "Hope it is a good one for you, sir," the delivery man touched his cap and tipped his head before he left a rather surprised Aziraphale sitting in a cafe, half finished tea and the crumbled leftovers from an eclair in front of him.

And a long, narrow parcel. Aziraphale wondered if he should take it home to open it, but he still hadn't figured out how to deal with the fact that he'd run from his bedroom and the flustered demon in it. (34)

\- 34. It wasn't like he hadn't been plenty flustered himself. It had taken plenty of willpower to ignore his own corporation's needs and wants, especially when the satiation of said needs and wants had been dangled right in front of him, ripe for the taking - not unlike a red apple on a tree in the Garden of Eden.

  


Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the tape disappeared. He carefully pushed the flaps aside, not sure what he'd find in there. There was package filling, keeping whatever it was in place and a small envelope on the top of it.

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale took the envelope and pulled it open, slipping a thick piece of card out.

"One was lost, one was gained, one End Times shalle not cometh alone. Know thy enemee, trust thy friends - knoweth thee the difference, foolish principalitee?"

Aziraphale stared at the card. Then he lifted the package filling aside and stared at its content. Then he covered it again. "That's," he cleared his throat. "That's not mine," he muttered to himself. He lifted the filling again and touched the blade. There was a corresponding resonance in it, the metal's surface gaining several degrees in heat, his fingerprints little sparks of heat. 

Something else resonated, but it hadn't come from the sword in the package.

This was something else, one of the wards he'd set up in the bookshop. He'd never needed them, no angel nor demon had ever tried to get in. (35) But he'd created them on the first day he'd moved in and had kind of forgotten about them since. And he knew what they felt like when violated.

\- 35. Uninvited at least - Crowley had been the first but Aziraphale _had_ issued an invitation, after all.

  


"Crowley." Aziraphale didn't even register the next few seconds. Money appeared in the till for the tea and eclair, the box dropped to the floor as he stood, hand finding its familiar grip around the hilt of _his_ sword. Not the one he'd given to mankind, but the one that had been waiting for him without him knowing.

Two steps out the door and reality bent to his will, Aziraphale walked through the door to his bookshop, sword at the ready. Ready to face whatever would be waiting for him, including defending Crowley's life with his own.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where this fic earns its rating of M (I almost labelled it E, but I'd be hard pressed to figure out what the actual E stuff I write should be then LOL).
> 
> This chapter has hurt, comfort, sex, some more sex. Some not-human-genitalia and sex. You get the idea. I swear, it's not as explicit as it could have been.
> 
> So thank you for reading this - it was a deviation of a sorts for me - a bit of fun with the 'what if' genre that has always been one of my favourite to read.
> 
> And again, please go tell [Kelley that her artwork rocks](https://anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com/post/614429675143528448/commission-of-nagacrowley-and-exploreraziraphale), okay? Okay, good ;)

Crowley threw himself down on the couch and sighed. He'd already spent time terrorising his vines, feeling they too should feel some of the hopelessness (36). He'd hoped that Aziraphale would come back rather quickly so he could set things right, but obviously the angel was too stubborn for this.

\- 36. He wasn't fooling anyone, least of all the vines. They had been witnesses to the developing romance, and Crowley should have known that once they had seen his softness, it could not be unseen. Of course, they did not so much fear him by now as feel a certain loyalty to him. So in this case, they would simply ignore the yelling. It was good for the demon to get it out of his system and they could take it. They were his finest, afterall.

  


"Urgh, your own fucking fault, you idiot," Crowley muttered to himself, draping a hand over his eyes as he draped his serpent lower body comfortably over the couch. He'd known from early on what role Aziraphale had played in Eden, had known that his own deed had eventually brought about Azirahale's demotion. In a sort of roundabout way.

He would be lying if he claimed that Aziraphale's words hadn't hurt. "Just another one?" Crowley growled to himself. He wanted to rant and rail at Aziraphale. Of course he wasn't just another one. The whole temptation game was really what he'd given up first. He could rarely come up with anything that humans weren't already doing or often the humans would come up with plenty more depraved stuff than he'd ever been able to imagine (37).

\- 37 - And Crowley had what other demons did not, an imagination. And he quite liked applying it in new and interesting ways rather than the same old modus operandi of his demon kind.

  


It didn't change the fact that he should probably have told Aziraphale from the beginning. Wasn't like the angel had mentioned until quite a bit later that he'd been one of the guardians of Eden. Not that it mattered. A bit of a difference between what Aziraphale had done and what Crowley had done. He could only hope that the angel would come back soon so they could talk about it.

Crowley made a face. Not that he enjoyed talking about his emotions, but they'd obviously need to if he was to have any hope they might get back to doing what they had been doing earlier. And Go-Sa- _any_ one, he hoped they'd be doing it again.

Closing his eyes, Crowley hummed and touched his lips. Satan's sake, but he wanted that again. So soft, yet so electrifying. So much pent up yearning. And that had only been his own, hadn't it? He'd been damned smitten with the angel since he'd hung him upside down in the vines of the temple - or maybe more when he'd attempted to smite Crowley and had failed. Sure, it had stung, but nothing he hadn't been able to shake off. Had made him all tingly too.

Not as tingly as Aziraphale had, though. Crowley made a noise deep in his throat. He'd been instantly curious about the angel, but he hadn't expected to fall like this. His second fall - one he'd wish he could say was nicer than the first one, but right now the tight feeling in his chest begged to differ. How was it that an angel, of all Her creations, that he'd only just gotten to know, had managed to worm his way so efficiently under his skin?

Now, Crowley could have spent all afternoon on the couch, moping as Aziraphale was wandering London in search of a deeper meaning. But of course the course of true moping never ran particularly straight.

Had Crowley been paying more attention, he might've felt it coming. As it were, the bookshop doors blew open and two familiar and rather unwelcome creatures entered. (38)

\- 38. Strictly speaking, no one forcing their way into the bookshop could be considered welcome. Even customers would only be let in by the invitation of the turned 'open/closed' sign on the door.

  


Crowley half fell, half coiled himself off the couch, desperation coursing through him. He should have known that Hell would eventually track him down. Actually, he should have been more surprised it had taken them this long to make a move.

"Crawley, you bastard," Hastur sneered, nearing Crowley from the left while Ligur was doing the same from the right.

"The rotten duo," Crowley greeted them, eyeing the bookstore for anywhere to escape them.

"Why don't you just come with us without making too much of a fuss, you flash bastard," Ligur said, eyes shining as he eyed Crowley.

"I'd really rather not, if it's all the same with you," Crowley replied, inching his way back towards the stairs to the flat above. It wouldn't keep those two bastards out, but if he could barricade it for long enough, he could maybe find another way out. Strictly speaking he could normally just teleport, but the same wards keeping anyone from just appearing without prior invitation, were now keeping him from getting out any other way than through a natural opening...

Ah, hang on a second.

The wards.

"I did wonder why you didn't just drag me down to hell without bothering to use the front door," he said, eyeing Hastur. He could of course still set fire to everything, but Crowley was fairly sure that Aziraphale's wards would keep Hellfire from working.

"We wanted the pleasure of getting you ourselves," Ligur rasped from the other side. "Have one or two unfinished bits of business, Serpent." (39)

\- 39. Crowley hadn't just skirted his own assignments, he'd also on occasion interfered or lessened the impact of those of some of the other demons, if he felt mankind needed a little help. It was stupid to think that Hastur and Ligur wouldn't eventually have sniffed this out and would have been waiting for him to come back on the radar.

  


Crowley swallowed hard. This was going to hurt, because they would have to drag him physically out of the bookshop and away from the wards in order to literally pull his sorry arse down to Hell.

While they weren't big enough, at least his vines had grown fast - and a little boost had them multiplying and curving around bookshelves. They knew what they were bred for. They probably wouldn't last long, but they might buy him time… though time to do what, he wasn't sure. He could maybe sneak out the window upstairs or barricade-

As Ligur yelled, vines curling around him and dragging him to the ground, Crowley took a moment to be thankful that Aziraphale wasn't there. That he wouldn't get hurt trying to help.

And that was a moment he couldn't afford to take. Half turning he came face to face with Hastur and he was not close enough to get to the stairs where he might've stood a chance of barricading the narrow passage.

While Crowley had limited access to his power in the bookshop, Hastur was even more limited. However, as he was brandishing a hellishly looking knife, Crowley knew he was in trouble. Even as the vines crept up around Hastur, he could tell it would only be a matter of time before he lost any advantage he might have.

Grabbing a chair, Crowley slammed it into Hastur. The knife glinted and only because the vines were wrapped around Hastur's arm did the knife not plunge into Crowley's chest. Instead it slashed across, and while the wound was superficial, Crowley felt the literally cursed blade bite into his skin.

Yes, it was weakened by the defences that Aziraphale had weaved into the shop over the years, but it would slowly kill him if he didn't do something. Buy time, he could buy time, not much, but at least this, his half Serpent form was better at dealing with such an infection. Crowley breathed in and felt his body fighting the curse of the blade. He curled up on the floor for a moment, the pain of the invasive poison tearing at him, making any movement painful.

He managed another burst of power to his vines and Hastur was cursing him loudly. Crowley closed his eyes for a moment. Damn it, but that blade had done more damage than he'd suspected. Even his current form was struggling to deal.

"Don't think this is going to help you in anyway, traitor," Hastur hissed, chopping at the vines. Behind him, Ligur was fighting a vine that had wrapped itself all the way around him. Yet Crowley could see, through pain-clouded eyes, that it would only be a matter of time before he was out as well.

Putting a hand across his chest he winced. Yeah, this was not going particularly well.

If he could only gather enough will he might be able to give the vines the final burst, but his vision was blurring, narrowing as shadows crawled in from everywhere. Aziraphale would come back and find him dead and Crowley wanted to rant and rail at God for this. Aziraphale didn't deserve this, he'd mourn Crowley, of course he would, but he shouldn't have to.

What he wouldn't give to see Aziraphale again. See his smile, feel his soft hands and strong arms around him, holding him close in the morning as the sun would warm the room. All cosy under the oversized duvet. So much warmth and strength.

Light.

Light. So much light. Crowley forced his eyes open and stared. Between him and Hastur was a burning light, white wings outstretched, brandishing a fiery sword. A voice as deep as the darkest abyss, lined with all the bells and filled with starlight rang out.

"Be gone, Hell spawn, you are not wanted here, you are not welcome here. You enter my dominion and try to take what is mine?" When the light said 'mine' the word sounded like a mountain cracking - split from top to cavernous underground.

Somewhere off to the side Ligur was whimpering, and Hastur looked more ashen coloured than ever. They were both staring into the blinding light with fear in their eyes.

Crowley, too far gone to feel any real fear, just stared at the light. He'd probably go blind. It would be a small blessing right now as all he could focus on was the pain spreading through his chest. Somehow he knew this was Aziraphale. Could feel him at the core of the light. So beautiful, so dangerous, but he'd gotten to see Aziraphale one way or another before the poison would kill him off for good. It wasn't just eating away at his corporation - he could feel it burrowing its way inside his occult form.

The light brightened until it was painful to watch, somewhere he could hear screams from probably Hastur and Ligur. And then it was all quiet and the light dimmed.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale's voice broke as he spoke his name and warm hands slipped under his shoulders.

"Angel, thought you'd given it away?" Crowley slurred, or tried to, as he fought sinking into utter darkness, flashes of righteous angels and flaming swords following him down into a swirling mist. But he didn't want to go, didn't want to, now that Aziraphale was back.

* * *

Aziraphale fell to his knees as the sword clattered to the floor and he sent his wings back to the inbetween where they normally were. He reached out to touch Crowley but wasn't entirely sure where it would hurt the least. The demon had turned into his half Serpent form and it made it a little more difficult for Aziraphale to get him turned around. 

"Nevermind the sword," he whispered, carefully gathering Crowley in tight to his chest. It'd be easier if he could get him upstairs, but as he didn't know the severity or the source of Crowley's injuries, he was leery of using a miracle that might make it worse. In these cases one never knew. It wasn't like angels and demons went around helping each other like this.

Or fell in love with their adversaries.

Aziraphale pushed the thought down and away. This was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts. (40)

\- 40. Such thoughts and feelings did not care whether or not it was their time and as much as Aziraphale wanted to focus on something else, those feeling curled themselves around his heart and squeezed it tightly.

  


Holding Crowley close, he carefully stood. Crowley muttered something against his neck.

"Darling, can you coil your body around me enough to make this easier?" Aziraphale asked. He would have prefered to not have to ask, because he was fairly sure that any movement would cause Crowley pain.

A whimper escaped Crowley, and for a moment Aziraphale didn't think he'd been heard. Then Crowley twisted a little in his hold and the long, agile serpent body coiled itself around him a couple of times, over his shoulders, enough that he'd be able to carry him up stairs.

"Too 'eavy," Crowley muttered, fever-damp forehead pressed against Aziraphale's neck. He was burning up, a furnace where he was touching Aziraphale.

"Nothing I can't handle, now shush, rest."

Navigating the narrow stairs was a bit of a challenge, but Aziraphale was solely focused on getting Crowley to the bedroom. A quick thought and the main doors locked themselves, wards flaring with many times the strength of before, fueled with ire and desperation and something else. Not that Aziraphel had time to wonder what the sword might have awakened in him. He felt invigorated, stronger, ready to take on the world to save what he loved.

"You're hot when you're strong and angry," Crowley slurred, lips moving against Aziraphale's skin. Unlike his sweat damp skin, his lips were dry and cracking with the fever.

"And you're delirious my friend, now please hush. Save your strength," he scolded Crowley, pushing away the shiver the touch of lips sent through his body. Only just that morning, Crowley had mouthed his way along Aziraphale's neck and if Aziraphale hadn't run out like he had, then Crowley wouldn't have been left alone to fend for himself.

The closest room was his own, not to mention the warmest, so it was no choice as to where he was putting Crowley. Untangling himself from the serpent's coils proved to be a little harder than he'd expected.

"It's alright," he whispered against Crowley's damp temple. "I need you to let go so I can check your wounds, my dear." The coils firmed their hold for a moment, then they loosened their grip on him.

Crowley's eyes were closed as he slid back on the bed, his body overheated, his serpent body uncoiling as if he could no longer hold on to anything or anyone.

Aziraphale gasped when he saw the angry wound crossing Crowley's chest. It wasn't deep, but it wouldn't have to be. It reeked of pain and suffering, its edges black and charred, the blood leaking from the wound soaking into the charred edge as if it was absorbing it, _feeding_ off it.

There had been a knife downstairs, on the floor. One of the demons must have dropped it. If he could examine it he might be able to help Crowley. As it were, he was afraid to make it worse by attempting to use ethereal miracles to heal him.

As he tried to get up from the bed, Crowley's taloned hands sunk deep into his shirt as he muttered something unintelligible.

"I'll be right back, dear, I just need to check something." It wasn't as if Aziraphale wanted to leave Crowley alone either, but if there was even the slightest chance he could find a way to save Crowley, he would grab it by the throat.

Crowley muttered something else that ended in a whine and a gasp. Then his hands slowly unclenched, his hands falling to the mattress.

Aziraphale hoped it was a conscious move and not because he was losing strength. Though the quicker Aziraphale found a way to help, the better.

As quickly as he could, he was downstairs. And there was indeed a knife, lying on the floor off to the side. And if he'd been in doubt about its origins, he could be no longer. It absolutely reeked of evil and suffering. He stopped before picking it up, then stepped back. A quick check, he thought, wouldn't hurt.

Closing his eyes, he felt his way around his bookshop. He might have gone a little overboard when he'd strengthened the wards before. It wouldn't just keep people out, but it would take a feat of strength from his side to open them enough to let himself out if needed. He shrugged. For now that was what they'd need. No risk of being interrupted by demons (or customers for that matter).

On the way back to the knife, he swung by the small kitchenette and took one of the tea towels. He did not fancy touching the knife, even on the hilt, without anything to protect him.

On a second thought, he knelt down and closed his fingers around the hilt of his new sword. He'd dropped it when he'd fallen to his knees at Crowley's side. It no longer flamed, but he could feel how it lay, just under the surface. Ready to spring to his aid should he need it.

"Wherever you came from, I'm glad," Aziraphale said softly, feeling the quiet power emanating from the weapon. "Whoever sent you to me, I am thankful." He hoped dearly that there were no nefarious reasons for the delivery to him, but for now he would take all the extra protection he could get. For Crowley's sake as well as his own.

He wrapped the towel around the hilt of the knife, but he could still feel the cold seeping through it. Tightening his grasp on his sword, he felt it heat up and the cold menace of the knife seemed to recede a little. At least enough that he could carry the knife upstairs.

Back upstairs, he put both down on the floor. He didn't want either of them to make Crowley's situation worse. If that was even possible. Aziraphale swallowed hard. Crowley was sweating, pale as death, even his dark and red scales of the long serpent's body seemed to have lost lustre, their normally deep, vibrant colours a pale shadow of what they had been this very morning.

"Angel, angel, you there?" Crowley's eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth open as he panted. He sounded so lost, like he was in so much pain.

Aziraphale steeled himself. He had to stay strong. Find a way to help. He sat on the bed, as close as he could get with the coiled body filling it. He didn't want to crowd Crowley too much, causing him pain without realising it.

"I'm here," he said softly. "I have an idea, but I'll need you to trust me." And there was the problem wasn't it? So far they hadn't been particularly good at this, even Crowley had kept his true origin a secret. "I know it's a lot to ask…"

"Angel-" Crowley swallowed hard and was obviously fighting to stay awake. "I'd trust you with my life, angel. Have already given you my heart for safekeeping, but oh - don't tell Aziraphale, ssssssh, hush hush, angel can't know I love him, he'll feel bad about not loving me back."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and fought back the tears. Crowley was in no fit state to give consent and if he didn't act fast, he would lose him. And that wasn't an option. Not now - never had been, never would be. Leaning in, he opened his eyes and pressed his lips to Crowley's heated brow. "Rest now, I'll do what I can."

When he'd asked Crowley to trust him, Aziraphale had had a single idea. It was born out of desperation, not knowledge or wisdom. And the reason why he'd asked was because one didn't simply whip out one's true celestial form in polite company without asking.

However, his true form would allow him to see things his human corporation could not. It did, afterall, have all the eyes that came with the outfit. The ones that could see through time, through space, and most important of all, could see what no other eye could. What didn't want to be seen.

Standing and stepping back from the bed, Aziraphale wiped his eyes. He needed to be strong for this. Needed to do this so he could tell the idiot that he loved him too and hear Crowley say it out loud, on purpose, because he'd meant it and would know it was reciprocated.

Aziraphale stared at the bed for a moment, taking in the whole picture. Crowley's upper body, human shaped, was laid out, sweat glistening on the pale skin, the horrible wound across his chest taunting Aziraphale. Long red hair was spread out on the pillow, matted by sweat as well. His lower body, curved in messy coils looked like it was dry and about to shed. There was no lustrous shine to the scales as there'd normally be.

He was losing Crowley and losing precious time.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and put his feet a little further apart, bracing himself. And then he opened his _eyes_ , the time seeing ones, the hidden ones, to oxen head and the lion head stretching as his wings unfolded themselves, more eyes opening to see what did not want to be seen.

In front of him, in a dark void, red scales glistened, inviting him to touch.

Aziraphale did not. Instead he _looked_. The serpent form was great and should by all means have been in constant movement, writhing, but there was precious little movement to it. There was, however, a pulsing _something_ in its midst. Something that did not belong.

Ever so carefully, Aziraphale delved inside the coils, parting them to get to the core of whatever it was, radiating ice and death at its centre.

The coils slid against his celestial body, sluggish in their attempt to aid his forward movement, trying to draw him closer, draw him in.

The centre of the cold emanating from the serpent was a horrifying hole in the fabric of both the serpent as well as reality around it. Aziraphale gently held the coils apart and drifted back. There was something anchored through the icy hole. Like a string or an anchor chain. And it led somewhere just out of sight. Something that didn't want to be seen.

Pushing at it, he saw it in a flash. The soul of the knife was still anchored to the wound, slowly drawing life out of Crowley. And it would keep doing so until there was nothing left but a husk.

Reaching through reality, Aziraphale's hand closed around the hilt of his sword. It may have been new, it may have been on a long journey to join with him, but now that it was there, there was no doubt as to its right place. And there was no doubt in his mind as to what it could and must do.

The blade roared to life, flames illuminating the dark space, the light reflecting off the red and black scales.

 _'This is going to hurt,'_ Aziraphale whispered. _'I am so sorry.'_

Swinging the sword into the right angle, he rushed forward, plunging it to the hilt inside the ice.

Everything brightened to the point of pain and Aziraphale stumbled back into his human corporation, feeling the tightness of it like a suit that hadn't been worn in a while, and probably needed to be put out a size and a bit. He dropped the sword, letting it clatter to the floor before he scrambled forward.

Navigating the lax serpent body wasn't easy, but he managed to get close enough to gather the human half into his arms. It wouldn't help looking for a pulse, but Aziraphale closed his eyes and, for the first time in centuries, he prayed.

The softest brush of breath touched the skin of his neck and Crowley's hands fluttered against his hip, though he was still unconscious.

Aziraphale realised he was crying, but he could not find the strength to stop. All he could do was hold on and let tiredness drag him under, knowing that he could feel nothing from the horrible wound and Crowley's breathing became more and more even and strong.

* * *

The morning light slowly filtered through Crowley's tired eyes, warming his scales. And it was nice. Though not as nice as the warm body curled up against him. Forcing his eyes open, Crowley looked down and involuntarily tightened his hold, both of his arms as well as his long body cradling the angel.

The blonde hair looked sweat matted and Aziraphale's face looked flushed, but he was alive. He was breathing. And he was right there, in Crowley's arms. He drew a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the scent.

He had a vague memory of what had happened, at least up until the point where Hastur had gotten him with the knife. Crowley moved slowly so as to not wake up Aziraphale. Leaned back enough to check his chest where there was still the echo of a small ache, but nothing like he'd expected.

He'd also not expected the golden scar stretching across his chest. Touching the tips of his fingers to it, he realised that it was a little tender, but otherwise okay. His hazy memory dredged up the image of fire and light and when he looked at Aziraphale again, his heart felt like it was trying to escape his body.

By all intents and purposes, he should have been dead or at least still dying, because the kind of blade Hastur had gotten him with had no known cure. Well, perhaps destroying it would work, but that would take more power than…

There'd been a flaming sword, so many eyes, the true divine form of an angel, ramming the aforementioned flaming sword right into his core. It was possible that somehow explained the scar, but it most certainly didn't explain how he was alive and feeling… pretty good, if very tired.

He touched a finger to Aziraphale's hair, brushed it along his temple and along the edge of the earlobe. 

Aziraphale looked so unassuming, his clothes rumpled from being slept in. Crowley ran a hand down over his side and the shirt disappeared, as did the trousers, leaving the angel in his underwear and undershirt. A quick snap of the fingers and those changed to Aziraphale's usual tartan pajamas. Better, more comfortable, definitely. But yes, unassuming, if one wasn't capable of seeing underneath. Crowley hadn't - it wasn't polite, and even for a demon, you just didn't do that. But he'd seen, hadn't he? In a fevered dream that hadn't been a dream at all. He'd seen the wings and the eyes and the _sword_.

And it had been wielded in his defence, to save him. "Oh angel, if I wasn't already in love with you…" Crowley felt his heart beat a little faster. Curling even tighter around him, Crowley drifted off to sleep again. He was not going to let go as easily this time.

The next time he woke up, it took a little while for him to resurface. He was so warm and comfortable, and someone was running fingers through his hair. Well, not just someone. "Mmmmm angel, that's nice," Crowley mumbled, taking stock of how Aziraphale was embracing him while Crowley's own body was curled and coiled up underneath Aziraphale.

There was a small hesitation before Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley's hair again. "I'm sorry, darling, for what I had to do to you."

"Not gonna lie, angel, while I can guess some of it, the rest is a bit foggy to me." Crowley tilted his head back enough to look at Aziraphale. But he was careful to not do it so fast it might dislodge the fingers in his hair. "But don't apologize, Aziraphale, if what I remember is right, then you saved my hide yesterday. Was it yesterday? How long have I been out?"

"Yesterday, yes," Aziraphale agreed, still looking a little sad, especially when he looked down and caught sight of the scar.

"Don't," Crowley warned him. "It's beautiful, don't even think about offering to remove it."

"I don't even think I could if I wanted," Aziraphale choked out. "Crowley, somehow I plunged…"

"No, you severed the connection between my true form self and the knife, angel. If you hadn't, I'd have been dead." The poison had been created to destroy both corporeal form as well as occult or divine.

"But I did so without considering what it might mean for you, what it might _do_ to you." His voice almost broke.

Crowley reached up and cupped Aziraphale's cheek. "Angel, did you not hear me? Had you done nothing I would have been dead - as it is, you've marked me, and I wouldn't have it any other way." And he was speaking the truth. Knowing he carried the scar as a mark of Aziraphale's determination to protect him warmed him to the core.

"But— "

Crowley shook his head and moved his thumb, pressing it to Aziraphale's mouth. He could feel the hot breath bursting against his finger and decided 'to hell with it'. He pulled Aziraphale down, moved his finger and pressed his lips to the angel's.

Aziraphale moaned and opened up to him. What Crowley had meant as a chaste kiss became anything but, although Crowley could find no reason to complain.

Pressing Aziraphale back into the cradle of his serpent body, Crowley raised himself over him, feeling how Aziraphale moved to wrap his legs around his hips. "Angel, how forward of you," he mock-gasped, trying to cover how breathless he was feeling.

"Hush, you," Aziraphale said. He reached up a hand, pulling at Crowley's shoulders. "Just promise me to not overdo it - you were injured quite severely."

"I have you at my mercy now, angel, I'm going to take it nice and easy," Crowley promised. "So don't run out on me again, okay?"

Aziraphale sighed and huffed out a breath."I am sorry about that," he said. "I could have handled that a little better."

"I should have told you," Crowley admitted, pressing himself down into the vee of Aziraphale's thighs, watching and feeling him moan at the contact. "Making an effort, are we, angel?"

"You're not," Aziraphale replied. "Would you prefer I didn't?"

"Angel, serpent biology aside, just go with the flow for now? First time really isn't the right time to erm, introduce you to what's basically two dicks."

Aziraphale's facial expression would have been hilarious if it hadn't also been such a damned turn-on.

"Two-" his voice broke. Then he blinked a couple of times, all the while Aziraphale's cheeks grew redder and redder. Crowley wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything that cute.

"Relax, angel, for now we'll just do what feels good," Crowley promised. Though of course now that he'd thought of it was hard not to hope that Aziraphale would be up for it at some point. Instead, he reached up and pulled at Aziraphale's pajama top. "Do you mind?"

"Oh, not at all," Aziraphale said, snapping his fingers. And then muttered, "Oh, dear," as he realised that without anything between them, Crowley's soft underbelly was very much sliding against his erection.

"That is ssso much better, angel," Crowley hissed, his eyes falling half closed while he rocked his hips forward, feeling Aziraphale's heels digging into his scales and his fingers clawing at Crowley's shoulders.

A string of soft 'oh's escaped Aziraphale and he seemingly couldn't take his eyes off Crowley's. Yet his hands unclenched from Crowley's shoulders and slid to his chest, gently resting over the golden scar.

"You'll ruin me," Crowley said softly. "You are the most perfect being ever." He lifted Aziraphale forward by the coils of his own body underneath him and pressed against him from all sides.

"So say you," Aziraphale gasped. "As if there can ever be anyone else for me after you."

"Dangerous words, angel," Crowley mumbled as he pressed close, feeling Aziraphale rut mindlessly against him. Even if he wasn't making an effort, the heady mixture of Aziraphale's words as well as his obvious enjoyment of their coupling were making Crowley's head swim and his olfactory sense overflow with the musky scent of want and near-release.

"I was created for you, I can't but love your heart, your soul. I can't bear to lose you," Aziraphale gasped, arching up against Crowley.

"Fuck," Crowley gasped, seing stars as he pushed forward and felt Aziraphale spill between them. "If that's the case, angel, then I was created for you as well - I wandered the world and hid in a temple for you to find."

Aziraphale shuddered and pulled him close and Crowley followed gladly. He could feel how Aziraphale's hips were still twitching and he was more than happy to offer the friction needed for him to come back down.

"My serpent god," Aziraphale mumbled against his temple.

"That's blasphemy, angel," Crowley said with a soft laugh. He hoped God wasn't listening or took offence. He couldn't bear to have Aziraphale taken from him - they'd only just found each other.

"Someone sent me a flaming sword at the right moment, Crowley," Aziraphale said, leaning back to meet Crowley's gaze. "I get the feeling She's alright with me worshipping you as well."

"So I didn't dream you having a flaming sword," Crowley said, his interest piqued. "Where did it go?"

"I dropped it somewhere on the floor," Aziraphale said, twisting a little to get more comfortable. Crowley happily obliged him. He was still buzzing from whatever pheromones he'd gotten off Aziraphale. 

"Not afraid it might set something on fire?" Crowley asked, nuzzling the side of Aziraphale's head, enjoying the feel of Aziraphale playing with his hair. The angel definitely liked running his fingers through it, so Crowley shelved the idea of having it cut short for now. 

"Don't be silly, dear, it doesn't flame when I'm not holding it," Aziraphale replied with a chuckle.

Crowley pouted a little. "I didn't know that, I've never had a flaming sword."

"You can borrow mine," Aziraphale said with a yawn, kissing his cheek.

"Is that a metaphor, angel?" Crowley asked, laughing. 

"No, that sword doesn't flame, silly." Aziraphale's voice was soft and innocent.

"Angel!" Crowley laughed, startled by the utter playfulness in the reply. With a snap of the fingers, he cleaned them up. As hot as it was, dried bodily fluids and scales only meant itching and he wanted them both to be comfortable. Another snap and the duvet covered them both. "Nap time, okay?"

Aziraphale drew a deep breath and muttered a soft 'okay' against Crowley's temple.

They lay quietly for a bit and Crowley was dozing off when he felt Aziraphale shift a little. Perhaps not as tired as he'd thought then. "You alright, angel?"

"I-yes," Aziraphale replied. "I feel I should apologise for running out on you like that."

"No you don't," Crowley replied. He'd rather they didn't rehash the argument.

"No, but I do, my dear," Aziraphale insisted, shifting again, though this time to lever himself up enough that he could look Crowley in the eyes.

Crowley's urge to fight him on this — because he honestly didn't want to talk about it — fizzled out and died. He couldn't even stop himself from reaching up and cupping Aziraphale's cheek. "Angel, those eyes are lethal," he mumbled, completely lost for a moment. Odes had been written about eyes, about them being the window to the soul. But no one had ever come close to describing what Crowley was seeing. (41)

\- 41. Crowley was no poet (and neither is your author) so we'll spare the readers the most soppy descriptions.

  


"Oh, really, Crowley," Aziraphale said with a put upon sigh.

"Seriously, angel. Don't worry. I could have been more upfront about who I was and I could've… been more upfront about actually recognising you."

"Re- Crowley?" Aziraphale's eyes widened impossibly and Crowley suppressed a groan. Now all he needed was for them to sparkle, and he'd be bloody dead.

Crowley rubbed his thumb along Aziraphale's cheek. "I saw you on the wall, that day, when you gave your sword away." He hesitated a little, then thought, in for a penny in for a pound. "I wanted to approach you, but when I got there it was a different angel - can't say that 'hello' went down particularly well."

Aziraphale let out a startled laugh. "No, can't imagine it would have - what would you have said to me if it had been me? Up there on the wall?" he asked, a shy and soft smile curving his lips as he shifted and reached up to place his hands over Crowley's.

It was quite possible that Crowley was melting from his core and out. "Dunno, angel, some lame and stupid pick-up line if I could get a word across my lips," he admitted. "I just wanted to talk to you and see what happened from there."

"Curious, I see," Aziraphale said, holding onto Crowley's hand while turning his head enough to press his lips against Crowley's hand. "But perhaps we shouldn't dwell on what could have been - you're here now, and so am I."

"And I quite like where we are," Crowley said with a wink, trying to get the wild beating of his heart under control. (42)

\- 42. After having lived for so long without another soul near him (unless you counted the vines and the local fauna) Crowley had no idea how to achieve such self control. Crowley set his eyes on Aziraphale, and if Aziraphale was being cute and inviting, Crowley's heart would beat so hard it had to be audible somewhere in Mayfair.

  


"Hmmm, as do I," Aziraphale hummed, leaning down to kiss Crowley softly.

Crowley buried the fingers of one hand in Aziraphale's hair while he clamped the other tightly around one perfectly rounded buttcheek.

"I thought you wanted to nap," Aziraphale mumbled against his mouth, laughter evident in his voice.

Crowley moved them enough to lie flat on his back with Aziraphale astride his hips. He snuck his tail up and around Aziraphale's waist, grinning when the angel touched the tips of his fingers to the scales, a curious look on his face.

"You know you can touch, angel," Crowley said, aiming for silky smooth temptation and ended up somewhere far too earnest for his own taste. He looked up and watched Aziraphale's naked want mingling with absolute adoration. With a moan he lifted his hands and covered his face. Go-Sa-someone save him, because this would very much be his future.

"Crowley, please, there is no need to be shy," Aziraphale said softly, and Crowley felt him leaning forward, putting his hand rather low on Crowley's hips which meant pressure in a rather delicate area.

Crowley twitched. He might not be making an effort, but that area was a bit more sensitive.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, angel, um, just a tad bit more sensitive where you just put your hands." Crowley pulled his own hands down and looked up at the angel, only to find him watching Crowley with a speculative look in his eyes and his lower lip between his teeth as he put his hands in the same place and _kneaded_.

Crowley nearly bucked him off and he quickly put his hands on top of Aziraphale's to still them. "Angel, please."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" Aziraphale began.

"Not what I meant," Crowley said with a small laugh. "Just be more gentle and give me a moment. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer me to revert to human form with the normal ...eh, genitalia?"

"I-no, I want you to be comfortable," Aziraphale said, cocking his head to the side. "Unless you'd prefer it?"

Crowley shrugged as much as he could lying down. "Angel, I'm not exactly used to having sex in either form, but yes, I'm more comfortable like this." He wasn't lying, though at some point he wouldn't mind doing things the human way as well.

"Good," the angel said ever so sunnily, watching him with ill-concealed expectation.

"Heaven obviously missed your kinky streak," Crowley muttered, gently holding Aziraphale's hands in place while he allowed his body to alter itself. He felt the skin fold under the warm hands and a soft moan escaped him. If he'd been a little more sensitive in that area a moment ago, it was nothing compared to having the heat and pressure of Aziraphale's hands there now. "Gently," he told Aziraphale before letting go of his hands and laying back on the bed, letting the angel explore.

And if Crowley had thought Aziraphale a perfect match for him, he was strengthened in that belief. A curious angel to fit a curious demon. He closed his eyes and lay back as Aziraphale's strong fingers slid along the folds, and Crowley allowed himself to let go, to let his body react however it wanted to to this alien touch. He'd never imagined having anyone else's hands on this part of his anatomy.

Not that he was complaining. Aziraphale _was_ being very careful, the tips of his fingers sliding between the folds, and Crowley had to smile when he heard the gasp.

"You weren't lying," Aziraphale said, voice soft and low.

"Angel, I'll spend a century or two showing you I don't lie - it's not my style," Crowley said quietly.

He heard the soft inhalation and opened his eyes to find Aziraphale watching him with so much emotion that he had to close his eyes again.

"And you're sure it's okay if I touch?" Aziraphale had been quiet for a few moments, but obviously curiosity got the better of him eventually.

"Of course," Crowley said. This time it was his turn to inhale rather sharply when warm hands closed around each appendage. The sensation flooded his whole system with endorphins and an unholy sound may have escaped him.

Unfortunately this meant that Aziraphale let go. "Crowley, are you…"

"Yes! Angel, just, a little sensitive - haven't exactly let anyone touch me like this before," Crowley said, horribly embarrassed. "I didn't know what to expect, is all." (43)

\- 43. Crowley wasn't lying. Sure, he'd gotten himself off on the odd afternoon, but it had felt nothing like this; the sensation of actually having someone else's hands on him like this - not to mention, Aziraphale's body temperature was a lot higher than Crowley's had ever been - even out in the middle of the jungle.

  


"But it's alright?" Aziraphale asked, and when Crowley looked up, he found him with an oddly shy look to his face.

"It's more than alright, just… ignore any weird noises - apparently I'm not as much in control of this corporation as I thought I was," Crowley admitted sheepishly.

"I have to admit," Aziraphale said softly, "I find it rather enticing, hot even."

Crowley covered his face with one hand. "Angel, you'll be the death of me, I swear."

"Well, if you insist," Aziraphale said, and when Crowley checked, he was met with a soft, teasing smile.

Crowley groaned but finally just let it all go - reached up above his head and held onto the headboard. "Do your worst, angel."

"I'd rather do my best, dear," Aziraphale replied and before Crowley could say anything, he'd wrapped his hands around the hemipenes and was slowly moving his hands up and down. The only thing keeping Crowley from dislodging Aziraphale from his seat, was the fact that he'd wrapped his tail around Aziraphale's waist.

"They're oddly smooth," Aziraphale mumbled.

Crowley fought to open his eyes - he couldn't even remember having closed them in the first place. "What, angel?! Have you been reading up on snake anatomy? But yeah, I prefer it this way, not much into hooks and barbs."

"Must say, good choice," Aziraphale replied primly before leaning down and taking one in his mouth.

Yes, dead, he was dead, Crowley was not going to survive this. Everything just drowned in Aziraphale's hot mouth and soft lips.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale's voice sounded a little rough and Crowley didn't want to think about what he'd just been doing, because then this would be over right this minute and he so wanted to drag it out a little longer. "Crowley dear, I need you to move your coils down a little - there's something I'd like to do," Aziraphale said breathlessly.

Crowley took a deep breath and regretted it. The whole room smelled enticingly of pheromones and musk. Still he managed to do as Aziraphale was asking, wondering what the angel was planning.

A large whoosh and a rustling noise and when Crowley's opened his eyes, he was met with the most magnificent sight. Above him, strong thighs on either side of Crowley's thick serpent body sat Aziraphale, his large wings unfolded and an unholy look of pure want shining in his eyes.

"Comfortable, angel?" Crowley asked, aiming for teasing but landing in a small puddle of whines.

"Yes," Aziraphale replied, voice soft and breathy as he pushed forward, on top of Crowley, his own cock hard again, sliding between Crowley's, right in that sensitive valley between them. "Is this alright?"

Crowley, rather than going for some stupid answer, just reached up, buried his fingers in Aziraphale's hair and pulled him all the way down, covering his stupid laughing mouth with his own. And hell, did the angel taste amazing. Not just because Crowley could taste himself on his tongue, but there was a sweetness and addictiveness to Aziraphale himself, a hint of burnt sugar and cinnamon and Crowley promised himself that he'd be damned if he wasn't going to lick the angel all over later, to figure out how many different scents and tastes he could make out.

The heavy beat of the wings as Aziraphale found his balance again filled the room, as did the moans that Crowley had no idea who was uttering - not that he cared. Had anyone told him he'd eventually have this, an angel above him in all his glory, he'd have laughed himself ill.

Aziraphale's moans rose and Crowley swallowed them down, used the tail still around Aziraphale's middle to urge him to go faster. They were both so close and Crowley let the angel drag him down into utter bliss, the world inside his head exploding as he came.

Coming back up for air, he found Aziraphale had buried his face against his neck and the wings were gently curved around their entwined bodies. They were rustling softly and ever so feather soft where they brushed lovingly against Crowley's scales.

Drifting on his little cloud of endorphins, it took a while for Crowley to notice the drying mess between them. With a small wistful sigh, he snapped it away.

"That was amazing," Aziraphale mumbled against his neck. "Even better than the first."

Crowley surprised himself with laughter. Hadn't expected this, had he? The softness, the playfulness and the utter earnestness? "Yeah, but if you don't mind I think it _is_ nap time. You wore me out, angel." He was glad his hemipenes had retreated back inside his body. Odds were they'd be twitching again.

"Oh, my, I forgot for a moment what you'd been through," Aziraphale said, struggling to shift off Crowley. Probably because the dork thought he was too heavy.

"Don't even think about going anywhere, angel," Crowley growled playfully. "I'm just tired, and the endorphins are doing me good, angel. As are you, being close."

"Well," Aziraphale mumbled, a soft huff as he put his head down on Crowley's shoulder. "I guess there's no harm then." He managed to sound so aloof, as if he was doing it only to please Crowley. Yet he was petting Crowley's scales where they were within his reach, obviously just as content to rest as Crowley was.

"I insist," Crowley said, yawning. "You need rest too."

Aziraphale muttered something unintelligible against his skin, but stayed where he was.

They would eventually have to consider what had happened, the flaming sword delivery and the attack from Hell, but for now, they were safe and Crowley wanted to take his time exploring this new side to his friendship with Aziraphale. Or relationship, perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have left it rather open ended - mostly because when I was writing it I realised just how much potential it has for a longer story line. So yes, once the full plot solidifies, I probably will return to this universe. It doesn't mean it doesn't have an end - I am not that evil.


End file.
